Who was this girl who spoke of love? It was not an Eonist concept, Marguerite thought.
“How do you know this, my queen?” the inspector asked.
Corra pinned him with her dark eyes. “Because I walked into her room yesterday and found the two of them together.”
Marguerite gasped. Another Queenly Law broken. Was this why Stessa had pushed Marguerite away when Lyker had entered the palace, to protect her secret?
“Perhaps they had a fight?” he asked. “Most of the time, the murder victim knows their murderer.”
“No. They were not fighting.” She cleared her throat. “I can’t be certain, but I don’t believe he would’ve killed her.”
“But he still lied to me, which means—” the inspector began.
“Ludists are not killers, Inspector,” Marguerite said. “If Corra says they were in love, then I don’t believe he could’ve harmed her.”
“True, however, crimes of passion are not uncommon in Ludia,” the inspector said. “Yet, with Queen Iris’s murder, it is difficult to link the two killings to this young man, for what would he gain in that? Unless Iris knew about their relationship?”
Marguerite exchanged a glance with Corra, who shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”
He nodded. “Still, I will speak with him again, but I doubt his involvement.”
“What do we do now?” Marguerite asked. She glanced at Corra. “Clearly the assassin is still roaming free. We are in danger if we stay.” She had never once thought of leaving the palace since the day she set foot inside it, even when Elias had been revealed as a fraud and a cheat and her whole world had fallen down upon her. The palace was where Marguerite was meant to be, and being queen was what she was born to do.
“We’re never to leave,” Corra said, looking up at the glass dome. “If we do, we’ll forfeit our throne, our reign tainted. We cannot have outside influence on our duties.”
“Perhaps that’s the assassin’s plan?” The inspector pressed a flag on his recorder. “He does not have to kill you all, merely drive you out of the palace. Yes, that could be it,” he said more to himself than the queens.
“Stessa also has no heir,” Marguerite murmured. “She was too young.”
“None of us do,” Corra reminded her. Marguerite failed to meet her eyes, feeling the truth would be pulled from her. Corra’s mother had been queen when Marguerite had fallen pregnant and supposedly lost her child. She knew nothing of Marguerite’s daughter hidden in Toria.
Keep her safe. Keep her hidden. That is all that matters. The throne is your responsibility, not hers.
“We have increased the number of guards,” the inspector said. “We will ensure the assassin does not have the time or opportunity to strike again.”
“You said that before.” Marguerite shook her head. “And now Stessa is dead.”
“We thought we had the murderer contained in the processing room,” he replied.
“Why don’t you force everyone to leave?” Corra asked. “At this point, our protection is more important than finding the assassin, correct?”
Marguerite could not help but agree. “We must protect Quadara and Queenly Law, whatever the cost.” And yet she would not reveal her daughter. No matter what happened to her. Her daughter had not been prepared for a life within the palace; she did not know how to be queen. She didn’t even know her real parentage. Marguerite would not falter now. Her daughter would live a normal life. Most importantly, her daughter would live.
The inspector pinned the queens with his black eyes. “What if the assassin has been part of the palace all along? What if they were waiting for their moment to strike?”
Marguerite’s tongue felt dry and heavy in her mouth when she replied, “Then we are doomed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Keralie
What happened back there?” Varin asked as we ran down the stairs, away from the House of Concord. Away from Mackiel’s screams.
I didn’t look back.
Had I gone too far? Was Varin finally done with me? I was surprised he’d stayed around this long.
The Concord began to fill in preparation for the day’s business. People stopped and stared as we fled. I knew we looked quite a sight.
Once we reached the center of the Concord, I halted and looked up. The Queenly Reports repeated the same news from yesterday. Nothing about the queens’ murders.
What was going on? Why hadn’t we heard anything? I understood the need to keep everyone calm, but surely something should’ve been leaked by now? Why was everyone acting like nothing had changed?
I took in some shuddering breaths. Everyone needed to know what had happened. I didn’t want the two of us to be alone in this.
“Are you all right?” Varin asked, standing beside me but still keeping his distance.
I shook my head. I couldn’t look at him. I could barely breathe. What had I done?
“What are we going to do now? We didn’t learn anything,” he said. He was right. We didn’t know much more than what we’d already suspected. He let out a breath. “You could’ve warned me about what you were planning to do.”
“How?” I said, finding my voice. “Mackiel was right there. I needed the element of surprise.”
“You certainly had that.”
“You can go now,” I said. “It’s over.”
“What are you talking about?” He shook his head.
“I’m tired, Varin. I want . . .” I was going to say I want to go home, but I didn’t know where that was anymore. Certainly not the auction house.
Varin stepped a little closer. “You’re scared. Take a breath.”
A laugh burst forth. “Scared? Didn’t you see what I did back there?” If anything, Varin should have been scared of me. It was like I was back on my father’s boat, steering toward the cliffs. I’d been enraged. I’d wanted destruction. So I lashed out.
There was a fury within me that I couldn’t control. A darkness attached, like a long shadow. And whether Mackiel had created it, or whether it was always within me, I wasn’t sure.
All of a sudden, the alley spun. Stars glimmered; the queens mocked me from above.
I fell toward the grimy stone.
An arm snagged my waist at the last minute. “Keralie?” Varin said, holding me inches from the ground. “Are you okay?”
The world spun again as he set me on my feet, keeping his hand on my arm. I looked down at his dermasuit-covered fingers, surprised by their steadiness and strength. Neither of us had flinched upon the contact.
“I’m fine,” I replied.
“No, you’re in shock. Take a moment.”
Though I hadn’t actually seen it, I imagined Mackiel’s flesh falling from bone. How could I have done that to someone? Someone I once thought was my friend? And did I dare admit the truth to that day on the dock after all these years?
When we had jumped into the water, I’d expected Mackiel to struggle. I’d known he would. I’d wanted to show Mackiel that I belonged in his world, that I could be ruthless too. I’d overheard him talking about his new recruit to his father days earlier. He’d said I was soft but could be molded. It had maddened me.
So I dared him to jump, to see Mackiel flail and have a taste of weakness. But I’d saved him before his final breath.
I’d always thought I’d never meant to hurt him. That it was a game, and Mackiel liked games. But today wasn’t a game. I wanted to hurt Mackiel, maybe more than I wanted to escape.
It was life or death, said a voice deep within. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Mackiel’s. Damn him! I couldn’t get him out of my head. Out of my life. Out of me.
I pushed Varin away. “I need to sit down.” Sinking to the ground, I pressed my forehead against my knees.
Varin squatted beside me. “You did what you had to. You saved us.�
�
“Yes, with no help from you.”
He surprised me by letting out a low, chest-rumbling laugh. “I’m not the quickest in a tight spot.” His expression was soft. For the first time, he didn’t appear to be judging me, and this was the one moment when I would’ve forgiven him for doing so. And he wasn’t looking at me like I was broken. A porcelain doll. He looked at me as though I was strong.
“Truer words have never been spoken,” I said with a small smile.
“Do you really want to quit now?” His dark brows were low over his eyes.
“We lost our evidence,” I said, referring to the rerecorded comm chips. “And we still don’t know how Mackiel is involved.”
“We have enough information. I can go to the palace alone, if you want?” He was testing me. Did I want to help the queens or not? Did I want to do the right thing? Was I more than a thief?
Who do you want to be?
“I’m in this deeper than ever. But Mackiel will still want his cut.” I ran a finger along my throat. “Unless you want out?”
Varin could disappear into Eonia; Mackiel and his henchmen wouldn’t find him there. “I told you, I’m going to see this through.” He raked his hand through his dark hair. “You’re not the only one who needs something.”
“HIDRA,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
He nodded, something behind his expression—hope?
Too bad we wanted the same thing. I could leave him here and venture to the palace for HIDRA on my own, but he could easily turn me in to the palace authorities. After all, who would the palace guards trust? A thief or an Eonist messenger?
I needed Varin on my side. Until I got what I wanted. I’d worry about betraying him later.
“We’re in this together,” he said. “But no more lying. No more tricks.”
I held my hand out for him to shake.
“Together,” I said as our palms made contact. “Promise.”
He should’ve known better than to trust a thief.
There was only one place left to go. And it was as though we’d been drawn there from the start, for this was where it had all begun. My steps turned more determined as we walked back up the stairs to the House of Concord and through to the palace.
“We need a plan,” he said.
“We are the plan.” I grinned. “No one will suspect a silly little Torian girl and a young, naïve Eonist.” I nodded at him. “We’ve got this. You and me. We go to the palace authorities and tell them we have information to trade on the queens’ murders. We tell them all about Mackiel and the comm chips.”
“How do you plan on breaking into the palace?” he asked, staring up at the golden dome. “There are Eonist guards defending the entrance and many more inside.”
I shot him an annoyed look. “We’re not breaking in.”
His brow furrowed. “We’re not?”
“You think that little of me?” I looped my arm through his, feeling his muscles tense on contact, but he didn’t pull away. “Silly Varin. We’re invited. Everyone is.”
His eyebrows raised. “We’re going to attend court?”
“We’re going to attend court,” I confirmed. “And we better look our finest.”
He shook his head with a disappointed sigh. “So no to breaking into the palace, but yes to stealing more clothes?”
I snapped my fingers at him. “Now you’re starting to get it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Corra
Queen of Eonia
Rule eleven: The power of the queen can only be passed on to her daughter in the event of the queen’s death or her abdication.
Corra returned to her rooms after meeting with the inspector. She couldn’t believe Stessa was now also gone. She needed to reset. She’d allowed her emotions to take control and realized it a moment too late. There had only been one other occasion when Corra’s emotions had bested her—the day of her mother’s passing.
Corra hadn’t expected to be queen until she was fifty-five, as her mother’s death date was set to ninety years old, giving Corra plenty of time to perfect her hold on her emotions. By then she thought she might not even feel them. A true Eonist, ready to take the throne.
But her mother had begun rejecting her monthly medical treatments for her weak heart. In one of their few meetings, her mother had told Corra that she’d wanted to pass on to the next world so Corra could step into the light.
Corra had tried reasoning with her mother, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it. A year later, her mother was sent to the palace infirmary to take her final breaths.
With her mother’s death imminent, Corra had stole out of the palace for the first time in her life. It was important the Eonist advisor found her within Eonia—to ensure her upbringing inside the palace was kept a secret. During the few days Corra had spent in Eonia, she knew her mother had done the right thing. She had felt an affinity for the quadrant she’d only ever heard about, and she could not imagine feeling closer to Eonia had she grown up there.
When the Eonist advisor had arrived at the apartment her mother had given as Corra’s address, she’d been ready to return to the only home she’d ever known.
After arriving at the palace, she had visited her mother in the infirmary. Corra held her mother’s limp hand and whispered her words back to her. “I promise to be patient. To be calm. To be selfless. And rule with a steady hand. A steady heart.” Tears fell down Corra’s cheeks then. “I love you, Mother.” She buried her face against her mother’s side to hide her tears.
When she left the palace infirmary, she promised to leave her sadness behind.
But it wasn’t as easy with Iris. And now Stessa.
Corra wanted to disappear. More than that, she wanted to be able to grieve, hurt—feel like everyone else. She hated how she dishonored Iris with every glib response.
How much longer could she keep the mask in place? And what was the point? Her life was at stake, as was Marguerite’s.
Corra acknowledged the two guards posted outside her room before retiring. Sitting upon her bed, Corra let out an exhausted sigh.
A strange wailing, like an injured animal, echoed down the hallway. Corra thought of Lyker, shattered in his grief. He’d never be able to scrub the image of a limp and lifeless Stessa from his mind. Corra was glad she hadn’t seen Iris that way; she’d turned her head when the body had passed during the death processional. It allowed her to hold on to the last image of her love, vibrantly alive, doing what she did best: ruling.
Corra would never wish the agony of losing a loved one upon anyone, not even an enemy. Not that Corra had enemies, but who else could be killing the queens other than some vile and unseen adversary?
Perhaps the assassin had been sent from across the seas? Hired by a rival nation who wished to see Quadara fall. But what nation? There’d never been any international rivalry, only the Quadrant Wars.
“What would you do?” Corra whispered to the silence, hoping Iris was watching from above. “What would you do if you were still here? Would you flee the palace to save your life?” She grinned in the dark. “No, of course you wouldn’t. You’d stay. You’d fight.”
A sob gurgled in her throat. “Why didn’t you fight? Why did you let them snuff you out as though you were nothing? A flame in the darkness. Nothing more than anyone else.” She shook her head. “But you were everything. I don’t understand.”
Her fractured heart pricked. She flopped onto her back, allowing her tears to freely roll across her cheeks.
“If I leave, I lose my throne. If I stay, I might lose my life.” She rubbed her hand over her face. “What would you want me to do?” They were two very different things, what Iris would do and what Iris would want her to do.
“You told me we were in this together.” She turned her face into her pillow and cried, the habit of hiding her emotions deeply ingr
ained. “Will I see you again?” she whispered. “Does the quadrant without borders exist for passed queens? Is that where we will be together? Together in the way we were never allowed to be in life?”
Corra’s questions would remain unanswered, though she hoped they were not unheard by the queens above.
A bang against the door had Corra shooting up from her bed.
“Who’s there?” she cried.
“Don’t worry, Queen Corra,” one of her guards called through the door. “We have the situation under control.”
“Let me in!” an angry voice wailed. “It was her—I know it was!”
Lyker.
“Stay back,” her guard warned.
There was a loud thump, then a groan.
“Stop!” Corra cried. She flung open her bedroom door. “Don’t hurt him!”
Lyker was on the ground, his nose streaming blood onto the polished marble floor. One of her guards had Lyker’s hands tied behind his back. The other guard was rubbing his purpling knuckles.
“Please,” she said to them. “He’s grieving over Queen Stessa.”
The guards, and Lyker, looked up at her in surprise. Lyker’s eyes were red; she was sure hers were too.
She stepped to the side. “Let him in.”
“Are you sure, Queen Corra?” one guard asked. He made no attempt to release Lyker. She nodded.
“You can leave,” she said to the guards after they hauled Lyker to his feet and shuffled him into her room. They looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Now,” she commanded.
“Yes, Queen Corra.” They bowed and left the room, but not without a lingering glance at Lyker.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him once they were alone. “You must be in a lot of pain.”
But Lyker didn’t look at her. He was staring at her bed and the tissues scattered across the blanket. Corra had forgotten to dispose of them in her incinerator.
“Lyker?” she asked after a long moment.
He finally glanced up, his face distorted in grief. “You did this.” His voice was low but strong, and different from the boy she’d seen earlier with Stessa. The light had been extinguished from his eyes, replaced by something sinister and wild.
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