She glided toward him, her arms outstretched. “Who did this to you?” she asked.
“Keralie. But don’t worry, she’ll get what she deserves. In the end.”
“Are you in pain?” She ran her fingers across his smooth jaw. How would his injury change the narrative? Would he still want to lie with her? She’d worn her best undergarments in preparation, as always.
He shook his head. “I’ve taken some heavy Eonist pain blockers. But I could use a”—he grinned wryly—“hand.” He pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket, his fingers shuddering.
Arebella nodded and began wrapping his hands gingerly.
Up close, they looked worse, charred and broken. They wouldn’t heal. Couldn’t. What was left of the skin smelled like coal. She wanted to scrunch up her nose and turn away, but she forced herself not to.
When she’d finished dressing his hands, she said, “Don’t worry. When I’m queen, I’ll provide a dose of HIDRA.” Arebella wouldn’t have to discuss her decisions with anyone else. She could make the rules as she wanted. “I’ll heal you.”
If he kept his charred skin, there was a chance to revive it, but if they amputated his hands, there would be no repairing them. And Mackiel was so good with his hands; it would be a shame to cut them off.
“I know you will,” he said. “My queen.”
Arebella’s face broke into a beaming smile.
“Has the news spread to the people?” she asked, her hands wandering under his shirt to the skin beneath.
She sighed as she skimmed her hand across the smooth planes of his chest. The contact calmed her mind, allowing her to focus on one thought at a time—a powerful effect and one of the reasons she loved him.
She would help his pain by distracting him, and he could help her.
Mackiel moaned in reply. “No word has left the palace. They must be keeping the murders quiet until they find female blood relatives.”
She moved her hands lower and his head fell to her shoulder, hot breaths against her neck. “But they won’t find any female relatives.”
“No . . .” he breathed out. “None remain. No one but you . . .”
“And our assassin?”
“Perfect,” he managed to reply. “Swift, silent and deadly.”
Hearing her plans coming to fruition was a blissful release, like rain after a sweltering summer’s day. Her mind was cool, calm. She would do anything to keep that feeling. The plan she’d set in motion at fourteen was finally coming together. Her plan to save the Jetée. Her plan to tear down the walls and share resources across the quadrants. And her plan to be the one, and only, queen of Quadara. She trembled at the thought of how good that would feel.
Perhaps it would permanently calm her mind.
“It will be over before—” His voice faltered as she pushed her body up against him, careful not to touch his hands. “Before the week is out. It’s been difficult with so many people in the palace. It could be sooner if the assassin has the opportunity to make the kills.”
“As we planned.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She pulled his mouth to hers.
The rest was lost between heated breaths and low moans.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Keralie
My body took over as my mind raced. I fled from the fire, from the images burning behind my lids. I wasn’t sure where I was running to, but I needed space from Queen Corra’s terrified eyes, in case she pointed a finger at me.
Too late. Too late.
People filled the passages as the smoke filtered down the corridor. Still, no one stopped me as I ran by. They scattered in various directions, their eyes wide, panicked, as if they’d never seen the palace passageways before . . .
The processing room! They were fleeing the processing room! How did they get out?
Now free, they shoved and screamed at each other as they bolted. But they were going the wrong way. There was nothing inside the palace but death. No wonder they weren’t interested in me—I was another lost soul roaming the hallways.
I dodged the frantic bodies as I pushed against the tide. There was no hope behind me.
Get in quick. Get out quicker.
I’d been here far too long.
An arm snagged my waist, pulled me into an adjoining room and closed the door behind us.
“Varin!” I cried at the sight of him. My breath shuddered out of my lungs.
His eyes darted across my face, his cheeks flushed. “I lost the inspector in the crowd. But I ran into Christon. He said the palace visitors overpowered the guards. They couldn’t escape out the shielded exit; instead they broke into the palace, hoping to find another way out.”
“There is no other way out,” I said. I’d created this chaos. I never should’ve informed them of Queen Iris’s murder. If anyone else got hurt, it was on me.
Too much blood on my hands.
“Did you find Queen Corra in time?” he asked.
I shook my head. I didn’t need to say anything further.
“This isn’t your fault,” he said.
I turned away. “It’s always my fault.”
Before I knew what was happening, Varin enveloped me in his arms. Instantly, my body went rigid, but the embrace was familiar, like a long-ago memory.
And it was a long-ago memory. My mother used to give me the best hugs. She’d stand with her arms around me, her head on top of mine, for minutes on end, with neither of us saying anything. She had the gift of communicating without words. I’d never felt more loved than when in her embrace. My father had been different. Even when we would argue, he’d always end the conversation with I love you more than my boat loves a twelve-knot wind and a warm sea. Back then, I’d claim to have no idea what he meant, but I’d been lying. Regardless of my choices, my parents loved me. Until the accident.
I pressed my cheek against Varin’s chest. He smelled of pine and soap—the scent of his dermasuit. My eyes stung, and I squeezed them tight.
I never thought I’d be touched like this again.
“We don’t have time for this.” I reluctantly pulled away. “Queen Marguerite is the only queen left, and we know the least about her death.”
He nodded slowly. “Only that she’ll be poisoned.”
“Right. We don’t know anything more about the assassin than we did before entering the palace. It’s almost been two days.” Varin had been right all along; we should’ve gone directly to the authorities with what we knew, regardless of the consequences. We didn’t have proof, but we could still save Queen Marguerite. “We have to stop this.”
“It’s not your job to save the queens,” he said. “It’s not your job to save anyone.”
I knew who he was referring to. I jerked away. “What would you know?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’ve never loved anyone. How would you know what it’s like to hurt someone you love? Don’t tell me what to feel!”
His eyes flashed. “I know what it’s like to be hurt.”
“Because of your death date?” I harrumphed. “You think your own demise is painful? Imagine the feeling of being responsible for someone else’s.” I shook my head. “It’s worse, much, much worse. If I don’t get a dose of HIDRA for my father, then he’s—”
“What?” he interrupted. “You never said anything about HIDRA. I thought you wanted money!”
I threw up my hands. “I lied, okay! Are you really that surprised? All I do is lie and cheat and steal. I’m not that different from Mackiel. He made me, remember?”
“Keralie.” My name was a groan on his lips. “You should’ve told me the truth.”
“I didn’t want you to know we were both after the same thing. You might have turned me in to get what you want.” It sounded ridiculous out loud. Varin was loyal, he’d proven that time and time again, even when I’d stolen from him
, insulted him and dragged him into this mess.
“I wouldn’t have turned you in,” he said. “I would’ve allowed you to take the dose of HIDRA to your father. He needs it.”
Well, that made me feel worse.
I smiled sadly. “I don’t want you to sacrifice your future for mine—or my father’s.”
“Mackiel said your father was in a coma?” he asked, and I nodded. “Then his situation is more dire than mine. It’s the right thing to do.”
“What’s your condition?” It was the question I should’ve asked when he’d first mentioned it. The question he avoided back in the infirmary. “Why is your death date set to thirty? Why do you need HIDRA?”
He surprised me by not flinching. “I’m going blind.”
I gasped, my hand flying to my chest.
“I have a rare genetic condition,” he said. “It’s degenerative. I already struggle to see in bright sunlight and at nighttime, and my peripheral vision isn’t great.” He swallowed roughly. “I’ll be completely blind by the time I’m thirty.”
“But your eyes are beautiful.” Stupid Keralie. Such a stupid thing to say.
He smiled. “A symptom of the condition.”
“But HIDRA will cure it?” I asked.
“My condition has never been urgent enough to bump me up on the waiting list to be assessed. It’s not like I’m dying. At least, not right now.” One side of his mouth lifted.
Somehow it hurt even more that he was trying to make a joke about this.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told you the truth from the beginning. But I’m not good at trusting others. Look at Mackiel.” I let out a hollow laugh. “He was my closest friend, and he’s tried to kill me. Twice.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “You can trust me.”
“Yes. Because you’re Eonist. You’re good, loyal, understanding, selfless, honest.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You can trust me because I’m your friend, Keralie. And real friends, friends who care about each other, don’t lie.”
I wanted to believe that, but I’d been burned before. Perhaps Mackiel had stolen my ability to care. Perhaps I’d become the girl he’d trained me to be. And there was no undoing it.
“Do you think people can change?” I asked. “Or do you think we’re destined to follow a certain path?”
Varin sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. I’d never seen him this ragged, tortured. I didn’t want to hurt him with my words, but I had.
“I have to believe that we can change. I have to believe I can be more than a messenger, more than my quadrant requires of me, more than my death date. And you,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “make me believe that my dreams of more are not in vain. That I can go after what I want. Even if only for a short amount of time.”
His art. Queens above. Now it made sense that he’d never tried to pursue his dreams, for it would all be cruelly snatched away. Never to paint again. Once he lost his vision, the one thing that brought joy to his life would be impossible.
My heart constricted, and tears filled my eyes. “I want to believe there’s more for you,” I said. “For both of us.”
“Thank you.” There was a hint of dimples on either side of his cheeks.
“Come on,” I said, wiping my tears away. “You can do better than that. Show me some teeth.”
He grimaced, his teeth flashing white in the dark room.
I laughed. “Better, but it still needs work.”
He stepped toward me, tentatively. “Mackiel didn’t steal anything from you,” he said quietly.
I didn’t reply.
“Keralie?” he whispered. “If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that you’re your own person. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to. Look at the way you’ve moved about the palace, with no one the wiser.”
I studied the floor. “I’m not sure I know who I am without him. I’m not sure I can stand on my own.”
“You already are.” He placed his hands gently on my shoulders. “This is all your doing, not his. You want to help the queens. You want to help your father. That’s all you.”
I looked up into his eyes, and a breath lodged in my chest. His expression was heated, as if his gaze could cleave me in two and reveal the true Keralie trapped within.
Who do you want to be?
His eyes, like silver moons, moved across my face. My heart slammed against my rib cage. In that moment, I didn’t feel like Mackiel’s best dipper. I didn’t feel like the girl who had ruined her family. A girl you couldn’t trust.
I didn’t feel alone.
That was when I realized I didn’t want to be anyone other than the girl standing in front of Varin. The girl he was looking at with such desire in his eyes.
I gripped his shirt and pulled him to me.
His lips were softer than I expected. Warmer too. All this time, I’d pictured him as though he were made from the same shiny metal Eonia seemed to love. Unfeeling and cold.
But he wasn’t. Not at all.
His mouth moved against mine, taking both of my lips in his. His skin smelled salty and a little spicy. That was the real Varin, not what the dermasuit made him.
I ripped off my gloves and gripped the back of his neck, splaying my fingers underneath his locks. His hair was silky—everything about him was soft.
My heart sped faster, if that were possible, heat blooming wherever we touched skin to skin.
Then he let me go. In that brief moment of lost contact, we grinned at one another, surprised and electrified. I pulled at his neck, but he brought his hands up to stop me.
“I want to feel you too,” he said, cheeks darkening at his words. My heart fluttered. He unclipped his suit at his wrists and pulled off his gloves. With his hands free, he brushed a strand of hair back from my face, his fingers shaking. Then he burned a line across my cheek to my lips. I was worried we’d lost our moment, but then his mouth returned to mine.
I gasped, already forgetting the gentleness of them—of him. No longer restricted by the dermasuit, his hands dug into the back of my hair, bringing me up to meet him. Now I could feel the real him. See the real him. And he was all warmth. And hands. And lips.
Hot and cold shimmered through me, fighting for dominance as the dermasuit tried to regulate my searing temperature. The tumbling in my belly was similar to fear, and yet I wanted to embrace the feeling, wrap myself within it and never let go.
He continued kissing me, and I wasn’t sure when to stop. Why should we stop? We still had much to do—too much. Even so, I didn’t want to pull away. He obviously felt the same, his hands roaming across my sides, his touch almost as intimate as the kiss. I shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to touch Varin without our dermasuits in the way.
His eyes held a flicker of longing, and I thought I might combust under his gaze. In that moment, I couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else.
How did people kiss strangers with such abandon? Kiss without a care? How could they do something this intimate, this revealing, with someone they didn’t want? Other dippers easily wielded the power of seduction as though it meant nothing at all.
Mackiel had tried to teach me the power of a kiss, to make men forget, and then steal from them. Now I understood, for it was a perfect plan—the perfect distraction. But I couldn’t do it. I’d tried, and was close on a few occasions. But when it had come down to it, I couldn’t. And now I knew why.
My first kiss was meant to be with Varin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Arebella
The eight most perfect words roused Arebella in the middle of the night.
“You’ve been summoned to the palace, Miss Arebella.”
She bolted upright, not needing to be told by whom or why. This was the moment she’d been waiting for—the moment
she’d been planning over and over again until her plans were a tangled mess in her mind. She looked out her window; it was still dark.
There wasn’t time to waste.
“Dress me in my finest,” Arebella said to her housemaid, leaping out of bed. She didn’t need to rub sleep from her eyes, for she hadn’t really been sleeping. Arebella was not familiar with the deep unconsciousness that others seemed to enjoy. A few shallow hours of quiet here and there were all she could achieve. Her brain was far too active. “And quickly,” she added.
Her housemaid’s hands shook as she laced up Arebella’s corset and attached the large hooped skirt to her narrow waist.
Arebella huffed. “Now is not the time to be sloppy. Do it right or don’t do it at all.”
The mouse of a woman nodded, her hands steadying, although her lip was now trembling. Arebella cursed the woman’s weakness. The housemaid had been her adoptive mother’s and had never warmed to Arebella. She would happily have done without any help, but she couldn’t reach the many buttons down her back.
She stilled the housemaid’s hands in hers. The fragile woman flinched, expecting the worst. Arebella had never been cruel to her, but she’d also never been kind.
“Thank you for your help,” Arebella said with a forced smile. Why not start practicing her cordialities now, before she arrived at the palace?
Once Arebella was dressed in the shimmering golden gown, she descended the stairs to the foyer, a lantern in her hand to guide the way. Candles had been lit to conserve power. It was not a grand house, for it was all a single income could afford, but it had three bedrooms and a reception room, where the palace staff would be waiting.
Her veins thrummed, and her heart trilled. This was the day—the first day of her new life—the life she was always supposed to have lived. She’d recited the words over and over in her head in preparation for this moment. She’d practiced her expressions in the mirror. Shock. Sadness. Awe. Disbelief. She had perfected them all.
Four Dead Queens Page 26