At night, while her mind ran through the details of what had come to pass, and what was still to come, the image of her dead mother could not be forgotten. Sometimes she imagined her mother speaking to her from the world without borders. She would say that she understood, that she was sorry she’d denied Arebella what was rightfully hers. Other times, she imagined her mother’s skin peeling back from a slice in her neck, black bile dripping from her lips, hair floating around her crown as though she were submerged in water, and red flames reflected in her eyes. She would point a bony finger at Arebella and open her mouth to scream, cursing her for everything she’d done to her and her sister queens.
But it wasn’t due to guilt, Arebella told herself. No, it was merely shock. Her mother had been the first dead body she’d ever seen, and the image would likely never leave. After all, Arebella had always overthought things. Death would be no different.
She would replace that image with more important ones. Like being the first sole queen of Quadara, and her first ruling: to demolish the walls that separated the quadrants. Only then could Toria and Torians truly thrive.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Keralie
I was considering the details of my hanging—would it be public, or would I disappear from this world, my mother and father never to know what happened to me?—when footsteps descended the stone stairs.
I looked up. The chicken bones had yet to harden. This could be my chance to obtain a weapon.
“Hello.”
That voice. An electric lantern rose in the darkness, lighting Varin’s expression. Good for him—he managed to look sorry. He must’ve spent time practicing in the mirror.
“Go away.” I returned to my examination of the filthy cell floor. He wouldn’t have anything on him that would help me.
“No.” His voice was stronger, set. He placed the lantern on the ground between us.
“Fine. Stay for all I care, but I don’t want to hear your traitorous apologies.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “Me? A traitor? You played me, Keralie.”
I wanted to block out the break in his voice. Even though I hated him, it still plucked at my heart, which I’d opened for the first time since I’d left my parents. Stupid, stupid Keralie.
“I’d rather not waste my last few hours alive arguing who played who better,” I muttered. “But just for interest, what did Mackiel offer you to turn on me?” I stood, throwing my hands wide. “There’s no one here to hear your lies. Tell me the truth. I deserve that, at least. What did you trade me in for? Did he offer you a dose of HIDRA? Did you see we were failing and found yourself a better deal?”
“He gave me nothing.” He stepped forward, and I noticed his eyes were glimmering with unshed tears. “I didn’t know he was even in the palace until after I spoke with the inspector. Mackiel verified what I’d seen you do.”
“Enough!” I stepped as close to him as I could with the bars separating us. “Tell. Me. The. Truth!”
He grabbed the bars on either side of my face. “I’ve told you the truth! Why can’t you do the same? Do you have so much pride that you can’t admit what you’ve done? Tell me why you betrayed me!”
I stumbled backward—his fury tangible. “You think I’m capable of murder?” My voice crumbled to nothing.
“I didn’t.” His eyes pierced mine. “Until I saw you with that bottle of poison. Until everything pointed to you. I couldn’t turn away from the truth.”
I raked my hands down my face. “That never happened! And I didn’t even know my bracelet could do that! Don’t you see? It was Mackiel all this time. He framed me!”
He sighed and shook his head. “I came here to see if you would admit it and tell me why.”
“Mackiel, your new best friend, told you why,” I snapped. “Let’s not cover well-worn ground.”
“Not that.” He shook his head again. “I thought . . .” His face softened. “I thought you and I . . .” He sighed, hands in his hair. “I guess I was wrong.”
“And I thought you cared about me!” I filled in the gaps. “I guess we were both wrong.”
We stared at one another. Words, conversations, days, moments that could have been spent together left abandoned. He’d shown me a path, a different life, one of honor and loyalty and, perhaps, love. But he had taken that away, from both of us.
“You really believe I did it,” I said softly. “Why?”
“Because I saw you,” he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. How much sleep had he had since I’d been arrested? If he thought I was guilty, why did it still torture him? And why did I still care?
“Saw me do what?”
“Stop playing games!” he said. “You want me to doubt what I saw.”
“I’m not playing any games. I’m trying to save my life!”
He swallowed roughly. “I can’t argue with you anymore, Keralie. If you won’t tell me the truth, then I can’t make you. You’re the best liar, after all.”
His words were like a physical blow. I couldn’t convince him I wasn’t guilty. For some reason, he’d seen something to turn him against me. Something he believed in more than he believed in me.
How could he place faith in what he’d seen when he was going blind?
And yet I couldn’t make him doubt himself. The words burned on the tip of my tongue, words that might free me but would break him. I couldn’t tear Varin apart like that. I couldn’t use his condition against him. I didn’t really hate him, after all.
“You thought you were doing what was right,” I said, understanding. “You thought I was the assassin. That’s why you turned me in.” I suppose that made it easier to understand, rather than Varin betraying me. I placed my hand on his on the cell bar, desperate for contact, but his dermasuit gloves were back in place. “But I didn’t do it. Trust me now.”
He glanced away. “I can’t.”
And although I understood why—he was Eonist, led to believe in truth and logic—my heart fractured at his words. I’d thought he was more than that. But he still hadn’t learned to use his heart over his head.
“Here.” He pushed something between the bars.
“What is it?” I asked, picking up a scrunched piece of paper from the ground. I didn’t know what to expect, but I gasped when I flattened it to reveal an intricate pencil sketch. “It’s me.” My eyes reflected back at me, a sly smile upon my face. “When did you do this?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” He studied his feet, his shoulders drooping forward. “It’s a lie. Everything was a lie. You can add it to your collection.”
Fat tears fell from my eyes, blotting the paper. I wiped them away, not wanting to ruin the drawing further. I looked happy. I looked beautiful. I looked like a good person. I looked like someone who had her whole life in front of her.
It was a lie.
“Why give this to me now?” I asked, wishing my voice sounded stronger.
“I don’t need it.” He didn’t even want to remember me.
I swallowed down my tears. “Can you do me a favor?” I asked.
“I won’t break you out of here.”
“Not that.” I took in a shuddering breath and let it out. “Find my parents—my mother.” My father would be dead in weeks. “Tell her what happened. Tell her I was trying to make things right.” Now I never would. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“Please don’t tell her what you believe about me.” I still couldn’t put assassin, the queens, and me in a sentence together. It was too ludicrous. “They’ll probably hear it from the Queenly Reports anyway.”
He picked up the lantern, then headed for the stairs. Hesitating at the top, he glanced back one last time. “I wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that I hadn’t seen what I thought I had. But—”
“You don’t trust me. You never did.”
“That’s not it. I do—I did. I trusted you. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. More than I will let myself trust anyone ever again.” His eyes glimmered with sadness.
What had he seen that had made him doubt me? How could he be so wrong?
“I’m sorry,” I said. Even if it changed nothing, even if I was still to go to the gallows, I wanted him on my side. I wanted him to believe in us. I needed that perfect moment in the sewing room to carry me through to the end. I wanted to believe in the boy who’d drawn this beautiful picture of me. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But I didn’t kill the queens. I swear it.”
He let out a heated breath. “The more you deny it, the worse it is. It’s like you don’t even know what you did. You believe in your lies so much they’ve become your reality.”
Was that true? Was I in denial? No. I didn’t do this. Mackiel did. The henchmen did. I was set up to take their fall.
I dipped my head, unable to watch him leave. “Good-bye, Varin,” I whispered.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Arebella
Finally, the day of Arebella’s coronation had arrived.
She had visualized this day more than any other moment in her life. To her, it marked the real change. Not the moment her mother died, or when she entered the palace, but the moment she was assigned the Torian throne and acquired the power of all the Torian queens who’d come before her.
With the assassin in prison and her execution date set for later that evening, it was time. Time the advisors moved on from their grief and embraced their new queen, for Quadara needed her. Now more than ever. The Quadarian public had yet to be notified of the queens’ murders, but would be, as soon as Arebella was on the throne. That way, there would be no mass panic.
She couldn’t wait to record her first Queenly Report for the entire nation to see.
The palace seamstresses had made her an exquisite gown, tailored to Arebella’s every curve. She wondered if she would wear it again. Perhaps she could wear it every day? Or would that be too much? Or did she care? She was about to become queen, above all judgment.
She tried not to overthink it, and stepped into the dress as if stepping into another life—her real self emerging.
The dress was ice white, with lace from her neck down to her waist, where it met a large silk sash. When she turned and looked in the mirror, she saw the back of the dress gaped open, exposing her milky-white skin. The skirt fell to the floor with a long train behind her, which would run the distance from her rooms to the Torian throne—a coronation tradition representing where the queen had come from and where she was headed.
Arebella gave one final look at her reflection, tucking a strand of auburn hair under her golden crown, before setting out.
The palace staff greeted her as she walked the hallway, and the sun shone down from the dome above her, tinting her white gown gold. Jenri had invited the entire palace to participate.
“They need levity at this time,” he’d said. “They need to celebrate.”
They need to move on, Arebella had thought.
The staff sang the coronation tune: a combination of only four notes, sung in various patterns. Four notes to symbolize the four quadrants. And four queens.
Soon to be one, Arebella thought. While Jenri and the other advisors had yet to name her queen of all the quadrants, she knew it was the only remaining option.
Arebella couldn’t contain her smile. She knew she looked radiant—more beautiful than she could’ve ever imagined. For a brief moment, she wondered what her mother would say. She swallowed down the thought and let the moment sink into her bones.
Be present. Be here. Be happy.
Mackiel stood in an adjoining corridor; he tipped his bowler hat with his bandaged hands as she passed, a cunning smile upon his face. Everything had gone to plan. More than that. Everything had gone perfectly. No one suspected a thing.
And her mind was calm. She didn’t have visions of murdering queens, seducing black market traders or burying her ghoulish mother.
She would finally be a queen. And soon, the first queen of Quadara.
* * *
—
MACKIEL HAD WARNED her not to do this. He’d said Keralie would get inside her head; she was twisted like that. But Arebella needed to see her face, the girl who had fallen for Arebella to rise.
Arebella had often thought about the girl who sat in the palace prison. And although Keralie had served her purpose, Arebella struggled to leave her behind and focus on the future. Her presence troubled Arebella, like a pebble in her shoe.
If Arebella could see the girl, perhaps she could rid her from her mind.
Two guards escorted Arebella down to the palace prison. She asked them to leave her, but they refused, their destabilizers unhooked and armed. This was Jenri’s doing, Arebella thought. He wouldn’t leave her side during the day and posted guards at her door at night to ensure her safety. A promise to her mother, he’d said.
Arebella cursed her mother for controlling her life from beyond the grave.
“Hello,” Arebella said to the prisoner.
Keralie looked up. An expression shifted across her face as she took in the young queen, dressed in her favorite golden dress, matching the golden crown on her head. “Who are you?” Keralie asked.
“Queen Arebella,” she had the joy of saying for the first time.
Keralie studied her. “Queen Marguerite’s daughter?” Arebella nodded. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
Arebella tilted her head. “Sorry you killed her?”
Keralie harrumphed, but said nothing further. Clearly, she’d tired of arguing her innocence. “Have we met before?” Keralie said suddenly, tilting her head. “You look familiar.”
“No.” Arebella said firmly. She had to divert Keralie from this line of questioning, but she hadn’t put much thought into this visit. She no longer had anything to plan for. She had everything she needed and wanted, and her questioning mind continued to remain blissfully silent. Mostly. Aside from the ghostly thoughts of her mother and this pebble in her shoe. At least she could be rid of one of them.
“I’m glad to see you have guards with you,” Keralie muttered.
Arebella bristled. “Is that a threat?”
Keralie held up her hands. Her fingernails were stained green from something—food? “What could I possibly do to you, Queen Arebella?”
Arebella glanced at the guards behind her before replying, “You’re a resourceful girl. I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you. Not like everyone else has.”
All those queens, slain by this little thing?
Arebella could see how preposterous it would seem. She was so . . . innocent-looking with her large blue eyes and small features. Even bedraggled, her blond hair curled into dirty little ringlets. She looked like a doll that had been left outside in the dirt and rain.
Mackiel had chosen well.
“I really wish I could take all of this as a compliment.” Keralie waved her hands around the cell. “But the fact you all think I’m capable of succeeding in murdering the queens with no one seeing me is ridiculous.”
Arebella stepped closer, her eyes widening. “Compliment? That’s an interesting word to use.”
Keralie let out a ragged sigh. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me what you came here for.”
Arebella grinned. It was a ruthless smile. “Your execution is set for later this evening. And you will die by your quadrant’s preferred method.”
They lived by the quadrant’s rules and died by them.
“My quadrant . . .” Keralie mused. “Your quadrant. How interesting. You know, you really do look familiar.” She stared at Arebella with such intensity that Arebella had to glance away.
“Hanging,” Arebella said, ignoring Keralie’s pointed look. “You will die by hanging.”
“Thought as much,” Keralie replied with a shrug, although her expression showed she cared more than she let on. “Anything further, my queen?”
“Is that all you have to say to me?” Arebella asked, one eyebrow raised. She thought she’d feel some closure upon seeing the girl who had taken the fall, but she felt nothing. She hoped it would be enough to let her mind move on to something else. “Anything further you wish to say before your hanging?”
“Yes,” Keralie replied, her eyes narrowing. “Keep those guards with you.”
“Another threat?”
She shrugged again. “Only that the assassin is still in the palace. You better be careful, or you’ll see your mother again sooner than you think.”
Arebella pursed her lips to stop a smile. “Keralie, don’t you think it’s time you accept the truth?”
When Keralie didn’t reply, Arebella turned on her heel and headed toward the stairs.
“Good-bye, Keralie.” And thank you. “May the other queens meet you in the quadrant without borders.” Together, yet apart. She grinned. “And let them have their revenge.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Keralie
Later that day, I received another visitor. One who had me hissing and spitting like the stray cat I’d attempted to pick up outside the auction house when I was a child.
“Get away from me!” I cried as Mackiel closed the prison door behind him and walked down the stairs toward my cell. “Guards!” For once I wanted them down here. “Guards!”
“Calm, calm, darlin’,” he said, voice as soothing as ever as he approached. “Haven’t you missed me?”
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “You got what you wanted!” Queen Marguerite was dead; the Jetée would live on, his business was safe.
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