Claire rolled her eyes.
Gramps, who was well ahead of the two girls, looked back and said, “Oh, believe me, they don’t need to see us. The really bad ones can smell us from a mile away!”
Claire was dumbstruck that Gramps had been able to hear them all the way back there. She looked at Maria, who just shrugged.
Tabby stopped and looked around. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?” she wanted to know.
They walked on, leaving her behind.
She heard something in the trees behind her—a snapping of twigs, a deep breathing, and something that sounded like a loon—and she took off running after the rest of the group.
They walked through the gates without a problem. The underlying smell of war and death was thick in the air, but they did their best to ignore it. Even Sherlock knew how deeply seeing his former home in ruins was affecting Gramps, and he kept his telepathic mouth shut.
As they got deeper into the village and Maria saw the destroyed buildings—which, had they been in better shape and been untouched by war, would’ve reminded her of townhouses in the better parts of Akron—Maria began to feel the same dread she’d felt when she saw the Silver Griffin change into Malakai outside of Salem’s Ice Cream. Not to mention the music box was practically vibrating its way out of her bag, as if it didn’t want to be here. She almost asked Gramps what that was about, but thought better of it.
Whatever it is, I can handle it.
Gramps stopped at a fork in the road. There was an upturned wagon on the right side of the fork; one wheel was leaning against the rubble of a large building, and another was in the overgrown brush to the left.
“There it is,” Gramps whispered to himself.
He was looking at the tallest building, the Royal Hall. It was the least ruined part of the entire village. For some reason, it gave Maria hope. Why? She already knew what had happened here, what had made Gramps flee to Earth.
“Wow,” Tabby breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Truly fit for a king and a queen,” Gramps remarked. Now his smile was genuine. “Ah, so many good memories there.” His features darkened. “And so many bad ones…”
Imagine how many chew toys I could fit in there! Sherlock yipped.
Maria chuckled. “A hell of a lot.”
“You must see it,” Gramps insisted to Maria. “You all must see it.”
“Do you think that’s safe?” Maria asked.
Tabby and Claire looked back and forth at each other, shifting on their heels.
Gramps pointed to Maria’s sword, reminding her of what she had said earlier.
“Right,” Maria recalled.
If Maria’s breath was taken when she first stepped into the world of Oriceran, it was nonexistent now that she was in the royal throne room of Dominion.
It was a vast place—the ceiling was so high up that it seemed there were dark clouds hanging above them. Two great pillars rose in the middle of the room, and a singed banner hung from one. The other pillar was bare, but Maria knew it had held its own banner many years ago—she had seen it in the vision that Duke, the dead boy, had shown her. The one remaining banner looked oddly like a domino. Maria thought about asking, but saw that Gramps was too emotionally drained to even talk. He walked slowly up the long, red carpet to the throne.
Sherlock was sniffing around. He hit a spot that caused him to turn his head.
“What?” Maria whispered.
Dead bodies were here, Sherlock answered.
Maria's heart sank. She knew of those dead bodies. One of them had been her father, the king. Claire must've noticed Maria's sullen look because she asked, “What is it?”
Tabby caught the tone of the conversation. “I don’t think I want to know,” she decided.
“You don’t,” Maria assured her.
At the end of the carpet, Gramps used what looked like a stand that had once held a torch to lower himself to the floor. He got on one knee and bowed his head. The room was huge, but very quiet; Gramps’s voice drifted back toward them.
“My king,” he whispered and clapped a fist to his heart.
He got up slowly.
Maria walked toward him. “This is where my father sat?”
Gramps nodded.
Maria looked over the throne. It was modest in comparison to the rest of the hall; just a chair, high-backed, with a plush seat of faded red. She then looked at the area in front of the throne. In Duke’s memory, Maria had seen the king splayed out on the floor, dead. Of course, she didn’t know that was her father, at the time.
At least the Arachnids had the good grace to dispose of the bodies, she thought bitterly. But a deeper, darker part of her mind knew they had probably not ‘disposed of’ the bodies; they had probably eaten them, bones and all. The thought was enough to make her stomach churn.
“I’ve never met a more honorable man,” Gramps was saying.
Sherlock suddenly bounded past them and jumped onto the throne; as his weight settled on the cushion, a puff of dust exploded from its sides.
“Down, Sherlock!” Gramps ordered.
The Bloodhound whined.
“The throne doesn’t belong to you, my canine friend.”
Maria raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, and he came down reluctantly.
Man, you guys never let me have any fun. First it was the Raffin, and now the throne…what’s next? I can’t even pee on a Gnome?
“No, you can’t!” Maria scolded.
“Why is Maria talking to herself?” Tabby asked. “Oh, right; I forgot she can talk to Sherlock. Wow, I’ll never get used to that.”
“Think about how I feel,” Maria told her.
“Could be worse,” Claire replied.
Maria nodded.
Once Sherlock moved out of the way, Maria followed in Gramps’s footsteps and got down on one knee, putting a clenched fist over her heart.
“For the king,” she said. My father.
Gramps looked at her, tears gleaming in his eyes, and smiled.
Claire and Tabby followed suit.
“Sherlock,” Maria said. “Sit.”
Sherlock rolled his droopy eyes, but he did what he
