Four Dead Queens

by Astrid Scholte

I was mulling over what I was going to say to the guards about how I’d procured the comm chips in the first place when Varin said, “You’re bleeding. What happened?” His eyes were narrowed on my skirt.

  There was blood smeared across my stolen dress. “Shit.” I rolled up the material. Fresh blood wept across my wounded knee. “I fell on it. It must’ve reopened the wound from yesterday.” How had it been merely twenty-four hours since this all began? Since I met Varin?

  “You need a dermasuit,” he said, playing with the black material hidden under his shirtsleeve.

  “Are you offering to strip for me?” I asked with a grin.

  He groaned, although there was a hint of a laugh beneath his breath. “No. I was suggesting if you had a dermasuit, it would heal your wound.”

  “You’re suggesting I impersonate an Eonist? Varin, you are full of surprises.”

  He didn’t reply, his eyes focusing on something behind me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We aren’t moving.”

  I glanced at the crowd. It was crammed with people from different quadrants. Some were beaming, happy with their interactions with their queen. Others spoke heatedly with each other, hands waving. Eonists, as always, were the easiest to spot. Their monochromatic dermasuits and placid expressions contrasted with the lively conversations and colorful outfits. But he was right; we hadn’t made any progress in the line.

  “What’s the holdup?” I asked the Torian man in front of me.

  The man shrugged. “The guards are no longer letting people leave.”

  A weight pressed against my chest. I stumbled backward.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  A guard pressed a button by the exit. A metal wall lowered from the ceiling, blocking off the door with a clang.

  “The palace apologizes for the delay.” A guard had a comm line looped around his ear; he pressed a button, and his voice amplified throughout the room. It sounded like it came from everywhere and yet nowhere at once. “But we cannot allow anyone to leave the processing room at this time.”

  Everyone started speaking at once. Questions were shouted at the guards.

  “Why?”

  “What happened?”

  “When can we leave?”

  “I have plans this afternoon!”

  “You can’t do this!”

  But the guards were Eonists; the questions didn’t rattle them. They looked out to the crowd, defiant.

  “I have to get out of here,” I muttered.

  “It’s fine,” Varin said. “They just need a bit more time.”

  “No, something is wrong.” I searched the crowd. “Maybe Mackiel has found us.”

  “You said yourself that Mackiel is a wanted criminal. He wouldn’t risk coming to the palace.”

  “But what if he’s the assassin?”

  The walls pressed in closer, and my head spun. The room was too small. Too packed. Not enough air.

  There’s a way in, but no way out.

  Varin reached for me, his gloved hands lingering on my arm. “It’s okay. He’s not here.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He nodded. “Wait here. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

  He pushed his way through the crowd toward the guards. I tried to focus on my breathing and reminded myself of how this room was different from the cave. Much larger. Many more people. And I would not be left behind here, my father dying in my arms.

  Varin’s face had paled when he returned. “I overheard the guards talking. Queen Iris is dead.”

  “But I saw her in the throne room.”

  “That must’ve been why they’ve locked down the palace; they’re hoping they’ve captured the assassin inside.”

  I glanced around the room, my breaths coming in quicker. “Mackiel.” He’s here. I know it. I can feel him, his presence a pulse within the walls.

  “Take a deep breath. We’re safe in here,” Varin said.

  Queen Iris wasn’t safe in her own palace. “I’m not going to wait for him to find me caged in here.”

  “We don’t have a choice. We can’t act suspicious now. You were right. We need evidence.”

  I was too stressed to celebrate that I’d been right. “I’ll go out there.” I tilted my head to the entrance to the throne room. “I’ll find the assassin before he strikes again. I’ll stop him.”

  “If the guards find you roaming the palace halls, they’ll think you’re up to no good. You did work for Mackiel, after all.”

  “They won’t find me,” I said, moving through the crowd. Varin tried to follow, but he was too broad, too visible.

  Now that I had a plan, my lungs began expanding. I was back in control. I could breathe again. I would search the palace hallways for Mackiel. Once I found him, I’d drag him to the guards and force the truth from his lips. Not only would I hand over the head of the black market, but a cold-blooded murderer. I would be rewarded with HIDRA. I would see my family again.

  “Stay there,” I mouthed back to Varin. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I pressed myself against the wall and approached the nearest doorway. A guard was escorting an annoyed woman in from the adjoining corridor. I stuck my foot out as she stepped across the threshold. As the guards were distracted by helping her up from the ground, I slid out and back into the palace.

  No one was better at locating and hitting a target than I was. And Mackiel was next on my list.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Keralie

  The marble corridors were silent and still.

  I crept along, my steps as quiet as the gold shadows cast from the dome above. No one would find me, not unless I wanted to be found. I’d been trained for this. I supposed I should thank Mackiel for that. I couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t far away, as if he was watching. He was always watching.

  The hum from inside the processing room bled into the connecting corridors, and yet the rest of the building appeared abandoned. I moved deeper into the palace, the hairs standing on the back of my neck.

  Voices pattered down the corridor like rain against glass. If I wanted to find out more about the assassin, I needed to move toward the sound of life.

  The voices grew louder and more anguished. A wailing bounced off the marble walls, drawing me forward.

  I broke into a run, keeping my tread light.

  Rounding the corner, I stopped suddenly to hide from a gathering of people inside a walled garden.

  The garden was green and lush, and bursting with flowers. Red dominated, ruby buds scattered throughout the emerald foliage. A piece of unbroken blue sky peeked in from above. The sight of freedom was magnetic.

  The wailing women each wore large structured Archian dresses—the palace staff. Their faces were pressed into their hands, shoulders racked with sobs. Figures in dermasuits stood by, their hands on their destabilizers. Guards.

  They leaned over to look at something . . .

  And though a voice inside my head told me I already knew what they were looking at, I needed to see for myself. I took another step closer, holding my breath all the while.

  As if the queens above had heard my thoughts, a guard shifted to the side, allowing me a clear view into the garden.

  At first it looked as though she was merely sleeping, her body languidly splayed across a wooden settee, her face tilted toward the blue sky, white-blond hair spilling down the back of the chair in waves. But there was no ignoring the gash across her pale skin, dug so deep, white was visible.

  Her spine.

  I clenched my stomach and twisted back behind the wall. Before I could stop it, I doubled over and heaved. But there were no contents in my stomach. My last meal was yesterday.

  What was worse than seeing her body slain like that was how the comm chips brought forth all the details I couldn’t
see with my eyes: the thin knife in the killer’s hand, the feeling of the blade slicing through her skin like butter, the curtain of blood as it flowed down her neck and Queen Iris’s hands as they reached for her bloodied throat, then for the murderer, splattering the greenery around her.

  There weren’t any red flowers. The red was blood.

  I heaved again. And again.

  My body convulsed a few more times until the shaking subsided.

  With Queen Iris slain exactly as I’d seen it on the chips, it confirmed my suspicions. The comm chips were instructions on how to kill the queens, sent to the assassin from the person orchestrating the murders. Which meant that Mackiel had delivered the rerecorded chips to the assassin, or he was the assassin.

  I had to tell Varin. The queens were being killed exactly as we saw it. The only question was who was next?

  * * *

  —

  SINCE I’D LEFT the processing room, two guards had been posted on the outside door.

  No one in, no one out.

  Staying out of sight, I looked around for something—anything I could squeeze through and into the processing room. There had to be a way . . .

  There. An air vent in the wall, low to the ground. There would have to be another leading to the processing room, allowing air into their makeshift prison hold.

  I slid over the marble tiles, cursing as my split knee made contact with the floor. Varin was right, I needed it to heal, or I’d leave blood streaks wherever I went. I pulled my lock pick from my bracelet and began working the screws out one at a time. Once I’d removed the fourth screw, I lifted the grate and crawled through.

  The ventilation shaft tunneled in two directions. I took the left.

  The tumbling fear of small spaces was surprisingly comforting, momentarily blocking the image of blood splitting apart a pale neck and the red-stained hand that clutched the knife. If I kept moving, focused on something—even the pressure building in my chest—then I wouldn’t break.

  I hadn’t seen that much blood since my father’s accident. Guilt began clutching my sides with ravenous claws.

  Focus, Keralie. Focus.

  The voices in the processing room had hushed to a murmur as those held captive resigned themselves to the fact they’d be detained indefinitely. As much as I hoped the assassin had been caught in this room, I doubted it.

  I shivered, feeling as though the assassin’s shadow was attached to me, walking the palace halls and now shuffling through the ventilation shaft merely a whisper behind me.

  The exit vent opened into the processing room at floor level. I couldn’t see much from the ground, only pants, dress hems and shoes. Some people had sat down, indignant about their predicament. Others, mostly Eonists, refused to sit, standing still. Standing out.

  Varin.

  He wasn’t far from the vent’s exit, but too far for me to call out without attracting attention from the guards. I needed a way back into the room, and there was only one way to enter a room unnoticed.

  Create a distraction.

  This was going to require a more sophisticated trick than tripping someone. It needed to be something bigger. Louder.

  The guards’ amplifiers. Yes. That would work.

  I quickly shuffled back along the ventilation shaft, ignoring the tightness in my chest, and unfurled out into the corridor. While it was still empty, life was returning to the palace; heels clicked and clacked against the floors, and voices carried from down the hallway.

  Get in quick. Get out quicker.

  Only two guards were posted at the entrance to the processing room. I grinned; they made this too easy.

  I studied my bracelet before removing a ball-shaped charm. Mackiel had given it to me for my first job. “It will be like taking candy from a baby,” he’d said. Which, of course, was exactly what he’d asked me to do. Something he’d already perfected at the age of six. “But you must take it without the baby realizing it’s gone.”

  It had sounded easy enough at the time. A baby would have a short attention span. A baby wouldn’t fight back. A baby couldn’t have me arrested.

  Only I hadn’t realized that when a baby had something they wanted in their grasp—something they loved—it wasn’t that easy to distract them. In the end, I had to buy another piece of candy to swap with the child. I hadn’t known back then that Mackiel was always watching. I thought he hadn’t discovered my trick. Years later, I realized he appreciated my resourcefulness.

  He’d rewarded me that day with the small round charm. The first of many.

  I threw the charm down the corridor to the right of me. It smashed into tiny fragments of glass.

  “Bastard,” I muttered under my breath. He’d told me the charm was a precious stone.

  The guards immediately moved into action; one gestured to the other to follow the noise. As soon as he left, I was behind the other guard, my hand in his pocket, removing the amplifier.

  The other guard called back, “It’s just a piece of glass, must’ve fallen from a chandelier.”

  Before he had the chance to return to his posting, I was back inside the vent, the amplifier in hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Keralie

  No one had moved inside the processing room, but someone had passed out cylinders of water, Eonist food bars and blankets. They weren’t leaving this room anytime soon.

  The guards continued to watch the crowd, their faces blank. I didn’t know when the assassin would strike next. I had to act. Now.

  I held the device to my mouth.

  “Queen Iris is dead,” I said in a low, authoritative tone. “All of you are to remain in the processing room until we capture the assassin.” I paused to let that sink in. “We believe they may be in this room. We will not let them get away.” I paused again, this time for dramatic effect. “Do not panic.”

  That was enough. Anyone who was sitting flew to their feet, faces flushing, mouths popping open in shock. Others bustled toward the guards, seeking answers. Everyone was shouting or screaming or fainting.

  People pushed in on the guards, their voices and fists raised in anger and outrage.

  “Is it true?” one person asked.

  “Queen Iris dead. How?” another cried.

  “An assassin? In this room? Let us out!”

  “I don’t want to die!”

  “Stay calm.” The guards used their own amplifiers and pushed back against the horde with their batons. Some raised destabilizers in warning. “Stay back!” But they wouldn’t listen. The crowd was an ember within a box of matches and there was no undoing the flame.

  The perfect distraction.

  I scrambled out of the vent.

  “Queen Iris was murdered the way we saw it.” I slid in beside Varin, my voice low in his ear. “Exactly the same way.”

  His eyes shot to mine. “That was you?” His shoulders lowered, and he appeared relieved to see me.

  I held up the amplifier. “People deserve to know the truth.”

  He pressed his full lips together as though he didn’t quite believe my reasoning.

  I scanned the embittered and enraged crowd. I almost felt bad for creating such chaos. “What have I missed?”

  “They’ve been releasing people one by one.” Varin nodded to the heavily guarded exit on the right side of the room.

  I raised my eyebrows. “They’re interrogating them, not releasing them. That’s why we’re here. The guards think they’ve captured the assassin.”

  “But you don’t,” he said without question.

  “No. He’s too smart for that.”

  “You really think the assassin is Mackiel, don’t you? What about his hands?”

  I swallowed roughly. “Then his henchmen are doing the dirty work, as usual. He’s at the center of this, I know it.” He’d do anything to save the Jet�
�e and his father’s business. Was killing the other queens just a diversion? So no one would suspect a Torian?

  Varin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What are you planning now?”

  “Who says I’m planning anything?” I broke a piece off his food bar and took a pull of water from his cylinder. My stomach gurgled in response, annoyed I hadn’t eaten in over a day. I took a longer pull. Varin watched my lips cover the spout.

  “I know that look on your face,” he said.

  I swallowed. “Okay, you’re right. I’m going back out there to find our murdering friend.”

  “You’re going to leave me behind again?”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “You find out all you can from here. The palace guards are your people. Surely you can make something of that?”

  “Are you giving me a choice?”

  What needed to be done required a thief, not a messenger. “You use your skills. I’ll use mine.”

  Without waiting for his reply, I pushed back into the crowd.

  * * *

  —

  QUIET HAD CREPT upon the palace, as darkness crept upon the short winter’s day. The openings to the dome overhead darkened to a rich amber; the queens would soon retire to their chambers. If the henchmen were behind these killings, then I needed a better disguise. And while I was good at skulking around undetected, it would be better if I weren’t wearing a dress stained with blood from my split knee. In case someone found me.

  Varin was right; I needed a dermasuit. And I knew of a place where I’d definitely find one. Queen Corra’s rooms.

  After an hour of slinking through the hallways, I noticed a pattern; the building was split in four, like Quadara itself. As I continued toward the east, the furniture became sparse—more practical and less frivolous and plush. Fewer chandeliers dangled from the gilded ceiling; they were replaced by cords of blue lights inset into the walls. It was like walking through a moonlit cavern. They were Eonist lights—drawing power from fibers embedded into the surface of the golden dome that absorbed the sun’s rays.