Four Dead Queens

by Astrid Scholte

  As I rounded the corner, I saw two guards standing on either side of an entranceway. It was the first door I’d encountered with some kind of security. It had to be the entrance to Queen Corra’s rooms. I slipped into the adjacent hallway and found what I was looking for. A vent. I unclasped my lock pick from my bracelet and made quick work of the screws.

  Once the vent was open, I slipped into the room, silent as a shadow.

  The narrow entrance opened onto what appeared to be the living quarters, although the furniture hardly looked comfortable. Like Varin’s apartment, everything was streamlined: polished floors, sleek metal tables and basic white chairs. Even the Eonist queen didn’t live in luxury—I supposed it would be contradictory to a quadrant determined to achieve and retain equality.

  Unless you had a condition like Varin’s.

  My chest ached at the thought of him being killed at thirty as though he were some wounded animal. It wasn’t right. Varin was a good person, and he had hardly begun to live his life. Surely there was a way we could both use HIDRA?

  I slipped my fingers underneath a cupboard door when I heard a thump. I spun, crouching to the ground, prepared to be face-to-face with the ruthless assassin, a silver knife glinting in their bloody hands. But nothing moved. No flickering of shadows in the darkness. I took in a small, quiet breath and waited.

  Nothing.

  I searched the adjoining room for the source of the noise, my fists clenched. But the room was empty. The noise must’ve come from the guards outside.

  There was a small panel I recognized beside the bed. I swiped my hand across it. A clothes rack slid out, four dermasuits of various shades of gold hanging from the metal bar. Touching the fabric between my fingers, a shudder ran down my back. Could I wear it, knowing the material contained conscious microorganisms?

  Suck it up, Keralie. This is for HIDRA. And the queens. Do the right thing.

  Quickly, I shed my Torian clothes, wincing as my starched skirt swept across my split knee. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it was still raw and angry that I hadn’t given it the required rest to repair. The dermasuit would not only provide a good disguise but also prevent the wound from reopening. I shoved my Torian dress into the incinerator by Queen Corra’s desk, then pulled a muted gold dermasuit over my head.

  A strange feeling settled over my skin as it shrunk to fit me. A cool, soothing effect like the flutter of snowflakes on bare skin. Beads of perspiration, which made my old dress cling to my back, were absorbed instantly, and the ache of my knee immediately began to subside. I stretched my arms and legs, feeling my muscles flare with energy. I clipped on the gloves to complete the look. It was like slipping on a different skin.

  Now I could walk around the palace without leaving a trail of my blood behind, for who knew who might follow it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Keralie

  I continued to scour the palace for the assassin. Or assassins. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that Mackiel’s henchmen were behind this. And I wouldn’t have been surprised if Mackiel allowed them to take the fall for the murders, washing his hands clean of them.

  After an hour or so, I’d still uncovered no sign of the henchmen. Perhaps they were in hiding with the guards now on alert. I decided to return to Varin to see if he’d discovered anything.

  The storm I’d created in the processing room had escalated, allowing me to easily exit the vent. People were throwing the food and water they’d been given at the guards. The noise was deafening, and the room stank of sweat and piss. Were they not letting people out even to relieve themselves? It wouldn’t be long before this room broke into a full-on riot.

  Would they open the doors then? To keep the peace?

  Varin was standing at the front of the room with the palace guards. He’d removed his Torian disguise to reveal his dermasuit. He couldn’t help but help.

  I pushed my way to the front. “Hey,” I whispered to him, standing close.

  Varin startled, his eyes flashing over my body. “Keralie?” He was looking at me in a way he’d never looked at me before.

  “What?” I asked, before remembering I was dressed in Queen Corra’s dermasuit. Was he looking at me like that because I now looked like an Eonist—like him? His eyes roamed over my body. His response should’ve sent a flush of heat to my face, and yet I stayed cool, thanks to my new microorganism friends.

  He cleared his throat and said, “You’re back.”

  I ensured my voice sounded even when I replied, “What’s happening here? What have I missed?”

  “The guards refuse to give any further information.” His face was cautious. “It seems your announcement was enough to start a war.”

  “Oops,” I replied with a sheepish grin. “I was only aiming for a distraction. Trust me to overachieve.”

  “If the guards don’t tell them something soon, I don’t know what might happen. It’s been hours since the guards were informed of any updates.”

  I glanced to the processing room clock; it was nearing nighttime.

  “And when did they hire you as a palace guard?” I nodded to the guards who braced their destabilizers in the air, prepared to take down the next person who raised a fist.

  “They didn’t. They needed help in controlling the crowd. And I’m—”

  “Eonist,” I filled in.

  “I was going to say strong.”

  I bit my lip, halting my retort. He didn’t have to make it this easy.

  “Did you uncover anything about the assassin?”

  “Not yet. However, I did manage to acquire this lovely ensemble from Queen Corra.” I tilted my hip out and waved my hands. “It’s made it easier to move around the palace.”

  “You stole from the queen?” he hissed.

  “You suggested it.”

  “I did not!”

  “You said I needed a dermasuit.”

  “Keralie.” My name was a sigh on his lips.

  I grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about Varin, the criminal mastermind.”

  Varin ignored me and jerked his chin over to the palace guards who were wrestling back the front line of protesters. “They allowed me to look at the list of everyone who entered the palace before Queen Iris was murdered.”

  “Mackiel?” I guessed.

  “No.” Why was a part of me disappointed?

  “Who else could it be?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know. But we won’t find any answers in here.”

  “We?” I asked. “Nuh-uh. You stay here.”

  He stepped closer. “I’m not letting you back out there with an assassin on the loose.”

  “Let me?” I crossed my arms. “No one lets me do anything. I do what I want, when I want.”

  “Keralie. I’m worried about you.” I couldn’t deny the zing that shivered up my spine when he said my name paired with that intense expression on his face. “And I want to help. This is as much my quest as it is yours.”

  “Varin,” I said, putting the same resolution into my voice. “You are too big and too broad to fit in that ventilation shaft. You will get us noticed, and arrested.”

  “I’m a messenger,” he said. “It’s my job to move quickly and quietly. And I can get us out of here without having to squeeze into that shaft.”

  “Sure.” I snorted. “What’s your genius plan, then?”

  “Ask to be released.”

  “You’re serious?” I studied his face. “Who am I kidding? You’re always serious.”

  He held up a gloved hand. “Keep quiet, all right?”

  “Why?”

  “Because while you might look Eonist, that”—he pointed to my mouth—“is far from it.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but shrugged. He was right.

  “Come with me,” he said. I gestured I
’d keep my mouth shut. This one time.

  Varin approached a palace guard, who was speaking into a comm line in low tones. I wished I could hear the voice at the other end. Were they any closer to capturing the assassin? And if they did, what would that mean for me? For us?

  “Christon,” Varin said to the guard. “This is my colleague, Keralie.” Christon looked over to me; I expected his expression to shift, but he gave me a stiff nod. “She has experience in dealing with criminals.”

  I covered my laugh with a cough. Varin shot me a warning glance before continuing, “We think we can help in the investigation. But we’ll need further access to the palace.”

  Christon studied me with his brown eyes—not pale like Varin’s—and I held my breath. Be Eonist, Keralie. Emotionless. Numb.

  “How can a messenger help?” Although Christon’s tone was neutral, it was a cruel thing to say.

  “Christon and I grew up together,” Varin said, as though that would explain Christon’s rudeness.

  “Actually, Varin is no longer a messenger,” I said. So much for staying quiet. I wouldn’t allow Varin to be belittled. “He’s leading the investigation in taking down Toria’s notorious criminal district. The Jetée, you’ve heard of it?”

  Christon shot a confused look to Varin. “But he was trained as a messenger.”

  “True. But his skills extend beyond delivering comm cases or merely standing guard like a statue.” Careful, Keralie; don’t get personal. “This was recognized by his boss, and he was given a rare chance for promotion. He works for Queen Marguerite now.”

  Varin shifted beside me, but I wouldn’t let him ruin this with the truth.

  “Varin leads the team,” I said. “I follow.” I tried not to laugh.

  Christon asked Varin, “Is this true?”

  Varin could let my story fall apart; he could continue to be Eonist and tell the truth. Or he could want more. For himself.

  “It is,” Varin said, squaring his shoulders.

  I wanted to clap Varin on the back and throw my arms around him. Instead, I gave Varin a simple nod.

  “All right,” Christon said, clearly surprised. “I suppose the inspector could use the help.”

  “The inspector?” Varin asked.

  “Inspector Garvin,” Christon clarified.

  “Of course,” Varin said, although something flittered behind his stoic expression. “We’ll report anything we uncover.”

  Christon escorted us to the exit of the processing room and nodded to the guard at the door to release us. Once we were alone in the palace corridors, I whirled on Varin.

  “You did it!”

  “We did it,” he said. He seemed excited by the deception, although I doubted he’d admit that.

  “What was that about the inspector?”

  “I checked the list of everyone who entered the palace before Queen Iris died.” He scratched his jaw, which was sporting a nice smattering of dark stubble. “Inspector Garvin was not on that list.”

  “Oh.”

  “Which means he was already in the palace before Queen Iris was murdered.”

  “Why would an inspector be in the palace before any murders?”

  He looked down the corridor. “I don’t know.”

  “Could he be involved?”

  His eyes snapped back to mine. “I’ve heard of Inspector Garvin. He’s . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Different.”

  I could fill in the gaps. “Tweaked.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s evil. It doesn’t mean he’s a killer.” Steel lined his words.

  I held up my palms. “You said evil, not me. But who would be controlling the inspector? If he is the killer?”

  “Someone who has something to gain from having all queens dead.”

  We weren’t any closer to knowing who that was.

  “Come,” he said after a moment. “Let’s find the inspector. He’s the only lead we have.”

  “What if we run into more guards?”

  “We’ll tell them what you told Christon.”

  “You agree to telling more lies?” I asked.

  He stared at me for a long moment. “Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me.”

  I pressed my body against him. Sadly, our dermasuits prevented any exchange of warmth. “If that’s what you want, you need only ask.”

  “Stop it, Keralie.” But he smiled, or at least, I thought it was a smile. It was hard to tell, as I’d never seen him do it before. Then a dimple appeared on each side of his lips and his white teeth flashed. For a moment, I forgot where I was and what I was doing. There was only Varin, and that smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Keralie

  Varin and I stole through the corridors, avoiding the staff as the palace adjusted to their new blood-soaked reality. We explored every shadowed hallway and every dark corner. I shimmied through multiple vents, and Varin eavesdropped on conversations between guards. We searched and listened and waited for the inspector to make himself known. We checked every room, opened every door that was unlocked and every door that wasn’t. And yet the inspector eluded us.

  I was relocking one of the doors I’d picked earlier when two guards rounded the corridor. Their hands swiftly moved to unhook their destabilizers.

  “What are you doing?” one guard asked, his gaze on the lock pick in my hand.

  “I was—” I began before Varin interrupted.

  “We’re checking the doors,” he said with such steadiness, even I would’ve believed him. “We’re trying to work out how an assassin could’ve moved between many locked doors to get to Queen Iris’s garden without anyone noticing.”

  “Exactly,” I said, pointing at them with my lock pick. “We’re testing the doors.”

  Varin shot me a look I was sure meant shut up.

  “And who are you?” the guard asked.

  I kept my mouth closed this time.

  “We’re helping Christon,” Varin said. “You can check if you need to.”

  The second guard nodded and did just that, his hand at his comm line. I tried not to grin when Christon confirmed our story.

  “What have you uncovered, then?” the guard asked, latching his destabilizer back onto his belt, deciding we no longer posed a threat.

  “Any common criminal could have unlocked these doors,” Varin replied. Common? I forced myself not to glower at him. “But moving about the palace unseen is the trickier part.” He gestured to the two guards in front of us. “The security is unprecedented.” It was true, we’d come across numerous guards. Some had merely nodded at us, our dermasuits the perfect guise; others asked if we were palace guards and what we were doing. Varin dropped Christon’s name anytime we needed to douse suspicion.

  “What’s next?” the other guard asked.

  Varin glanced at me before replying, “We’re looking for the inspector. We need more details on how Queen Iris was killed.”

  I nodded solemnly, although more details were the last thing we needed. We had all the details on the event but none on the executor. Could it be this tweaked inspector we kept hearing about but had yet to see?

  “Inspector Garvin is set up in the palace infirmary.” The guard nodded down the corridor. “It’s on the other side of the palace. We’ll escort you there.”

  I shook my head slightly, hoping Varin got the hint. Our paper-thin lies were unlikely to fool an inspector.

  “That’s all right,” he replied. “I’m familiar with the location. We’ll finish up here, then head to the infirmary.”

  I jiggled the doorknob as though I was finishing something.

  “Very well,” the guard said. “Good luck to you both.”

  Once they’d disappeared around the corridor, I said, “You’re getting good at this.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t like the
feeling of lying.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Feeling?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It gets easier. Soon you won’t be able to tell the truth from lies.”

  A small crease formed on his smooth forehead. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  I grinned, although my chest burned as if I’d swallowed something bitter. I didn’t want to twist Varin into anything resembling me.

  We quickly headed toward the other side of the palace in search of the inspector. I froze when we rounded a corner to find a large group of people gathered in a wide corridor.

  I wanted to run. Hide. There were too many people. Too many eyes. Someone was bound to realize we weren’t meant to be here. Perhaps the assassin.

  The staff were sorrowful, their hands clutched together, their faces etched with grief.

  “What are they doing here?” I whispered to Varin.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The crowd shifted to either side of the corridor and faced inward. Facing us. I tried to move into an unlocked room, but people blocked the doorways.

  They knew. Christon had discovered our lies. What was the punishment for deceiving guards and sneaking around the palace?

  “We have to get out of here,” I said, desperately searching for a way out.

  “Calm down.” Varin’s hand was at my elbow. “They’re not looking at us.”

  He was right. Their gaze was upon something moving down the corridor. Something inside a glass box.

  A coffin.

  “Queen Iris,” Varin murmured.

  Queens above. I didn’t want to see her ruined body again.

  The coffin was covered in melting candles and carried by her staff. And they were headed right toward us.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said again.

  “It’s the death procession.” He shook his head. “It would be suspicious to leave. And disrespectful.”

  The last time I’d been to a memorial was for Mackiel’s parents. He’d held my hand tightly during the entire service. How had everything changed in three years?