The locket was a small silver bottle.
“I don’t understand—” I began, but the inspector twisted the top of the locket with his narrow fingers. The tiny bottle stopper popped off in his hand. “I didn’t know it did that.” I wasn’t sure who I was talking to anymore.
The inspector held the locket upside down. “The guards don’t check for jewelry.” A few specks of powder fell from the tiny bottle lip. “The perfect place for hiding poison.”
“No,” I said, jerking my head at Mackiel, whose blue eyes were wide with mock surprise. “He gave that to me. I didn’t know it opened!”
“And what about this?” the inspector asked. He pulled off a tiny book charm. He flipped it open and a flame sparked inside.
“No,” I said again.
The inspector continued pulling off the other lockets, his black eyes narrowed, including my lock pick and the locket in the shape of a comm case. He placed them on the bench and began shifting them around.
I didn’t understand what he was doing until the lockets began snapping together like a puzzle. It formed a blade—a very narrow blade, with the comm-case-shaped locket as the base of the handle and the lock pick as the sharp tip.
“I didn’t know it did that either,” I said softly.
The inspector took one long slash to the air with the newly formed weapon. “Quite a deadly blade you’ve got here.”
I pulled roughly against my binds. “He did this!” I shrieked at Mackiel. “I work for him! He gave me each locket! He was the one who killed the queens!”
Mackiel simply looked at Varin. “Varin? Some clarity here, please.”
My eyes snapped to Varin. Don’t tell me you betrayed me. Not to Mackiel. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. I trusted him!
Varin slowly lifted his head but wouldn’t meet my gaze. “A few hours ago, in the sewing room, I fell asleep.” I didn’t understand. We’d both fallen asleep. “When I woke, you were gone. I found you in the corridor twisting the bottle back onto your bracelet.”
That had never happened. Why was he lying? Why would he turn on me?
“Queen Marguerite was found poisoned a short while later,” the inspector said with a nod.
“And the day before.” Varin cleared his throat. “When we were in the utility room, you also disappeared. I thought you’d gone to the bathroom. When you returned, your hair was damp, and you smelled of perfume.”
“When Stessa died,” the inspector said. “The perfumed baths.”
“You’re paying him!” I spat at Mackiel. “Aren’t you? You’re giving him what he wants. He belongs to you now, doesn’t he?”
How stupid! I’d thought I meant something to Varin, but I was wrong. Everyone could be bought, and Mackiel would find the price.
“No, darlin’,” Mackiel replied with a shake of his head.
“You set me up,” I whispered, my chest painfully tight. My vision blurring from tears. “All of you.”
“You’re wrong.” Varin stared straight at me for the first time. “You set me up. You made me think you wanted to help. You made me believe in you, but you were lying this whole time. Lying about your father, lying that you cared. All you wanted to do was kill the queens. It was your plan I saw on those chips. All this time, you said you were the best. I should’ve listened to you.” He laughed cruelly. “How well you played us all.”
My head spun. I pitched forward. The guards pulled, yanking me back.
“And what’s this?” Mackiel said, taking a step toward me. I flinched as his ashen fingers ran over the Eonist crest sewn on the shoulder of my dermasuit. He raised a brow, knowing perfectly well the suit wasn’t—couldn’t be—mine.
“That’s Queen Corra’s,” the inspector said. “Her handmaiden reported one of the dermasuits missing from her rooms.”
Mackiel tsked. “The same Queen Corra who was burned to death by someone setting her room alight. From the inside.”
It looked bad. I knew it looked bad. But it wasn’t true! Why wouldn’t anyone listen?
“Tell us,” one of the guards said, his hot breath crossing my face. “Why’d you do it?”
I shook my head, hair flying across my face. “There’s nothing to tell! I have no reason to kill the queens. Why would I? I have no motive!”
“No motive?” Mackiel spread his charred hands wide. “But what is it you always wanted as a child?” His face was grim, but his taut lips twitched. He wanted to smile. “All the wealth in the quadrant and to rule Toria.”
I shook my head. That was a game. A game we’d played as children. It had meant nothing.
“No!” I jerked forward again, desperate to be free from the binds and these lies.
“I’ve seen Mackiel’s memories,” the inspector interrupted. “What he says is true.”
Everyone was looking at me as though I was a wild and wicked girl. But I wasn’t who they thought I was. I wasn’t Mackiel’s. Although I had to admit I looked guilty: I’d been skulking around the palace for three days; I’d been in the queen’s rooms, with every opportunity to kill them; Varin had told them about the murder weapon—providing them concrete evidence—and Mackiel had given my motive a voice.
“What about this?” one of the guards asked as he shook my binds. A scalpel fell to the floor with a clink, sealing my fate.
“I told you,” Mackiel said with a sad shake of his head. “She’s ruthless.”
There was nothing I could do or say to unscramble his lies.
The inspector held the dagger in one hand and picked up the scalpel in the other. He looked at me, his dark eyes piercing.
“Take her to the palace prison.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Arebella
Arebella didn’t need to pretend once she arrived in the palace. Her surprise was real. Her excitement was real. Her admiration was real. She’d never seen such extravagance. Even at night, the palace was a golden-domed jewel. She imagined herself wandering the maze-like corridors, her arms spread wide to brush the gilded walls.
Beautiful. All of it.
She smiled down at her gold dress, knowing how well she belonged without even trying. This was her birthplace—her real home, and finally they were reunited.
Once she had settled into her rooms and been introduced to the rest of her staff, Jenri brought her to the palace infirmary. It smelled of chemicals, which burned the nose and stung the eyes. Arebella blinked, feeling tears form behind her eyes and at the back of her throat.
She expected to see four bodies laid bare, but there was only one covered in a white sheet. Her mother.
The inspector beckoned her forward with his long fingers.
It was strange, standing over the body of her mother, knowing she was responsible for her death. Arebella knew she should feel some kind of sadness, for this was the woman who had brought her into the world, but she felt only the acrid swirl of bitterness. No guilt. Her mother had thought Arebella would be weak, unable to shoulder the burden of the crown. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
She nodded to the inspector. “I’m ready.”
He lifted the sheet.
A cry escaped her. Mackiel had advised Arebella never to venture to the Concord to see the Queenly Reports, for fear someone would recognize her. Now she knew why. Her mother had the same long auburn hair, sharp jaw and dimpled chin. But her mother’s brows were lighter, her nose longer.
“She looks like me!” she exclaimed. She covered her face with her hands. Something stirred within. And it wasn’t bitterness.
A hand touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lady,” Jenri said.
That was all she’d heard today. I’m sorry for your loss, my lady. My condolences, my lady. How are you feeling, my lady? How can I help, my lady?
She was tired of it. When would they dry their tears and name her queen?
Areb
ella dropped her hands and looked upon her mother once more, letting a breath slowly escape her lips. “I’m fine. It’s merely a shock to see someone passed.” She had never seen her adopted mother in death.
She tried to convince herself that was true. A shock to see she looked similar to her mother. A shock that in death, she looked alive. She convinced herself it wasn’t guilt—why would she feel guilt for someone she’d never met? Blood was simply blood. While it linked them, it meant nothing. Her mother had taught her that. She’d cast Arebella away, depriving her of her birthright. Clearly, their blood ties had meant nothing to her. After all, everyone bled, everyone died. Arebella had just made sure it happened at the right time. Her mother’s death had been meaningful, allowing Arebella to ascend the throne, and that should count for something. Death was often meaningless.
“We’ll give you a moment,” Jenri said, nodding to the inspector.
Once they were gone, Arebella took the time to really look at her mother. She wondered what it would’ve been like to live under her love. It was not a scenario she’d played in her mind before. Marguerite had been a great queen—so she had heard from Jenri for the entire carriage journey to the palace.
The strongest, kindest and wisest queen.
Words that were meant to have brought peace to Arebella—so while her mother was gone, she’d made the most of her time upon the Torian throne. Yet the words brought an ache. An ache Arebella had never felt before.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Arebella whispered. She felt silly, but there was something about Queen Marguerite’s expression in death that made her want to cut open her heart and spill her darkest desires. And this would be her one chance before the death processional. With the assassin arrested, the queens would soon be laid to rest in the underbelly of the palace, never to be seen again.
“I hope you didn’t suffer too much,” she said. She thought poison seemed like a simple way to die, but from the sound of it, it had been the most drawn out and painful. And for that, Arebella was sorry.
“I want you to know this wasn’t personal,” she continued, waving her hands to her mother’s still body. “Your death was not in vain. One day, in the quadrant without borders, we’ll meet and I’ll explain why I did this. I’ll explain why you had to die for me to truly live.”
Words swirled through her mind, words that might’ve sounded better, more meaningful, but there wasn’t time for a second chance. As there were none offered in life.
She shook her head to clear her mind.
“Good-bye, Mother.”
The woman who lay on the table with chalked lips and lavender lids was nothing to her now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Keralie
My cell was twice the size of the cave I’d been stuck in six months ago. I knew this because I’d spent four days examining every rock and crevasse. I knew how far I could stretch out my arms before I hit the walls. I compared the cell to the cave over and over, until I couldn’t tell the difference between memory and reality. I was plagued by darkness and blood and darkness and blood, with only myself for company. I never would’ve imagined I’d want to be back in the cave, my father unconscious by my side, but it was better than this alternative. The tightness in my chest was the only reminder that I was still here. Still alive.
It felt as though weeks had passed since I descended into the darkness. Weeks since I’d seen Varin. Since he’d betrayed me. I still couldn’t fathom the reason. Unless they’d offered him HIDRA to turn me in and cover for Mackiel and the henchmen. And yet, Varin had said he would offer my father the dose of HIDRA over using it himself. Was that a lie? Had I taught him too well?
I should’ve known better than to trust him. And I hated him for it. I’d let my guard down and had been betrayed, again.
Where was Mackiel now? What about the henchmen? Had Mackiel convinced the inspector of their innocence as well? Were they now sitting upon the queens’ thrones, their gray, decaying hands gripping the mahogany wood?
While it had felt like weeks, it had only been two days. I knew this because of the six meals they’d offered me since my arrival. Tasteless gruel for what I could only assume was the morning, stale bread at midday and bland stew in the evening.
The cell reeked of sick—my sick. Only minutes after being thrown into the small room, the little amount of food and water in my stomach had propelled its way out of my body to coat the floor. They’d ripped Queen Corra’s dermasuit from me, dressing me in rags from unfinished palace dresses. I had nothing to prevent the burning fear from surging through me, and the rags were constantly damp from sweat.
Perhaps the darkness was kind; I could pretend I was somewhere else—somewhere bigger. Somewhere where breathing wasn’t painful, where I was not racked by nausea and heart palpitations.
Deep, ragged breaths in. Deep, ragged breaths out. I’m stuck in here. I’ll never get out.
My fear of confined spaces had complete control over my body and mind. I curled into a ball, hoping to make myself smaller and not be crushed within the room. My light-headedness was a constant companion in the dark.
The day after I’d been thrown down here, the inspector paid me a visit. He asked the same question over and over.
Why did I do it?
No matter how many times I told him I hadn’t, he wouldn’t believe me. Mackiel had bewitched them all with his lies, as he’d bewitched me at ten years old. Funny that it took his betrayal for me to finally see the truth. He’d tended to the greed in my heart, which had blossomed into a twisted vine, touching every part of me.
My throat was raw from screaming my innocence. While there were several cells in the underbelly of the palace’s prison, they were all empty—no inmates to keep me company. Had the guards removed them in fear of my superior assassination skills? Did they believe I could kill someone merely by looking at them? Guards were posted outside the door leading down to the prison, but they only visited to deliver my food with a side order of spit.
There was nothing to distract me from imagining myself rotting away. Skin turning to bones. Bones to ash. But that was silly. They’d kill me before that happened.
This cell was merely a precursor to the main event: my hanging. For a crime as serious as murder would be punished by their quadrant’s preferred method. And Toria favored the gentle caress of a rope around the neck.
Lucky me.
I wished I had that dagger now—my dipper bracelet—because I knew what to do with it. Find a nice home between two of Mackiel’s ribs.
Perhaps I was an assassin after all.
* * *
—
I KNEW THEY were planning to kill me the day the food started improving. It wasn’t normal prison food. It was we’re about to kill you, therefore you might as well enjoy it while you can food.
It was the evening of my third day in prison, and my sixth day within the palace. For dinner, they served me a piece of roast chicken with two gooey garlic bread rolls. My favorite.
I hurled the bread rolls across the room.
Mackiel. He must’ve told them my favorite meal. My final dinner.
He was playing me still.
I couldn’t let him win the final game between us. I let my fury ignite within me. I’d get out of here. I’d show Mackiel how well he’d trained me.
This was another job. Mackiel’s final lesson. The scenario: to be locked inside a cell with nothing but my wits. I didn’t even have buttons or zips or laces; the cutoffs from the old dresses were intentionally unembellished. The stiff material chafed against my skin, which became more sensitive the longer I sat hidden from fresh air and sun.
I needed something to pick the lock. Anything. But the guards hadn’t given me utensils; they knew all my tricks. I could use anything to escape. After all, I’d managed to break out of the processing room, sneak around the palace, and kill all four queens without anyo
ne seeing me.
I laughed quietly to myself.
I ate the chicken and kept the small bones, hiding them under my bed. I would wait for them to harden until I could break them into shards.
Then break the cell lock.
I hoped there was enough time.
CHAPTER FORTY
Arebella
The days after the assassin’s arrest were the best in Arebella’s seventeen years. But she had to hide that fact. She needed to appear like a fish out of water, a grieving daughter, a fledgling queen, for a little while longer. Until it was acceptable to be the queen she was born to be. The queen she’d spent her lifetime becoming.
She’d waited this long; she could wait a few more weeks until her true capabilities showed. She’d run the scenarios through her mind late at night: days would be too short, but weeks wouldn’t be suspicious. Months? Well, she couldn’t wait that long.
Arebella knew her plot to rule Quadara wouldn’t be without opposition. If any blood relatives were found, then they could rightfully take their places, but Mackiel had promised they’d been taken care of, and no descendants would step forward—could step forward.
Still, it made Arebella nervous. Even inside the palace, there was a chance everything could fall down around her. Her perfect plan ruined. And while everything had gone smoothly thus far, she felt unsteady. One unruly, and unexpected, card could topple the entire pile. She wondered who or what that card might be and how she could remove it without collapsing her entire plan. Yes, she was inside the palace, but she was still waiting. Forever waiting. She was soon to be named queen of Toria, but that had never been her ambition. To change Toria and improve their standing, she needed to be queen of all the quadrants. If not, everything she’d done had been for nothing.
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