Keralie lifted her lips into a snarl. “Queen Arebella.”
Arebella ordered the guards to take Keralie away, but her words were drowned out by the inspector’s when he said, “Keralie has some important information for the court.”
No. No. No. Not now. Not when she was about to get everything she ever wanted.
“Finish the coronation!” Arebella cried. But Alissa wasn’t looking at her.
“Queen Arebella,” Keralie said loud and clear, “is your true assassin!”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Keralie
Me? The assassin?” Queen Arebella asked with a laugh. She addressed Alissa. “Why are you letting her waste my time?” She waved her hand and sat back upon the Archian throne.
I tried to step forward but a guard clung to my arm, unsure who to believe. “But isn’t everyone allowed to attend court, my queen?” I sneered.
“Take her away.” She turned her face as though the mere sight of me stung her eyes. “She killed my mother and escaped prison. She’s a criminal!” Her voice grew shrill. “Take her away!”
The guard tightened his hold and started pulling me backward. But I wasn’t about to be silenced. “Yes, I am a criminal!” I shouted. “But I’m not an assassin, much as Mackiel wanted me to be. For you.”
“She’s lying!” Queen Arebella shouted back, leaping off the throne once more. “Why are you all gaping like fools? She admits to being a criminal, and yet you listen to her? I’m your queen. I order you to hang her! Now!”
Jenri glanced, bewildered, between Queen Arebella and the inspector. “What’s going on here?”
The inspector stepped around the guards to approach the dais. “Apologies for the confusion.” His voice was calm. “Keralie and this boy”—he nodded to Varin beside me—“found me in the infirmary. They shared some very interesting information. Information about the assassin that the court should hear.”
“But you have undeniable evidence, Inspector,” Queen Arebella interrupted, pointing at me. “She killed the queens.”
“That is true.” The inspector narrowed his black eyes at me. “Including evidence given by this young man.” He pointed a long finger at Mackiel, who was sitting among the advisors, as though he belonged there. But he didn’t belong anywhere but a prison cell.
Anger reverberated off Varin in waves. His stoic Eonist mask was well and truly gone.
“Then why are you wasting my time?” Queen Arebella asked.
“You admit it?” Jenri asked me. “You murdered the queens?”
“By my hand, they died. But not by my heart or mind.” I shook my head. “I would never choose to kill another.” It would take a long time to completely accept what had happened, but for now, I would push back the grisly memories and ensure my name was cleared. “I was being controlled. By comm chips. By her.”
There was an audible intake of breath from the crowd. Queen Arebella merely scoffed at the suggestion.
“What is she talking about?” Jenri asked the inspector.
The inspector let loose a slow smile. “Before Keralie approached me, I had a theory on the assassin, but the puzzle was not complete. All the evidence pointed to this young lady”—he gestured to me—“and yet something didn’t feel right. I began to believe her denials. I wanted further proof.”
“I’m glad someone was listening,” I muttered.
“I was”—the inspector nodded—“as I listened to everyone within the palace. Those old and new.” He glanced between Arebella and Mackiel. “Keralie being controlled was the final piece of the puzzle to fall into place.”
“What are you talking about?” Queen Arebella demanded. “Comm chips don’t make people do things.” She let out a forced laugh. “They’re for recording memories. We all know that.”
“Ah.” The inspector raised a hand. “A normal comm chip can’t, but there are some that can. I know all Eonist technologies, including the ones that have been banned from our quadrant. One such blacklisted technology was a form of emotion control. Rather than having to undergo years of schooling, Eonist children would ingest chips that suppressed thoughts and feelings. But the side effects were too severe, causing the children to act strangely, not of their own will. They also reported periods of blackouts. The trials were abandoned.
“Even though they were banned in Eonia, they found their way onto the black market in the other quadrants. Allowing them to be bought at the highest price by the lowest of folk.”
“Arebella hired Mackiel, and he tricked me into stealing the chips and ingesting them,” I said. “They controlled me. They made me . . .” I took a deep breath. “Forced me to do their bidding. Then when all the dirty work was done, Mackiel came to the palace to revel in his success.”
The inspector turned his gaze to Mackiel. “What do you say to this accusation?”
Mackiel tipped his gold top hat. “I know nothing of these advanced chips you speak of.”
“Nor do I,” Queen Arebella chimed in. “This is an elaborate tale from a desperate girl who should be on her way to the gallows.”
I gritted my teeth. “It’s the truth!”
Varin pressed against me for support, unable to touch me while the guards held his hands behind his back.
“It’s a complete and utter lie,” she replied.
“It is true that a person would do anything in desperation,” the inspector said, approaching the Torian queen. “Isn’t that right, my queen?”
“Yes.” Queen Arebella nodded fervently. “Yes. That’s right.”
He looked up at her on the dais. “In desperation, a girl might even try to kill her own mother. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Queen Arebella jerked as though her body had been destabilized. “What did you say?” She held on to the Archian throne for support.
Without glancing at her, he addressed the court. “A girl might orchestrate the murder of all queens to allow herself to rule. But she could not carry out the act herself, as that would be too obvious. Instead, she would need to employ someone who had the means for such brutal killings. Someone like him.” He pointed to Mackiel. “An old friend of Arebella’s. Who we now know controlled her.” He pointed to me. “A criminal of his employ.”
“More lies,” Queen Arebella said.
“Initially, I was skeptical, but Keralie has allowed me to see the truth. She recorded her dealings with Mackiel, recounting how she was asked to steal the comm chips and later ingested them, not knowing the consequences. She had no control over what happened to the queens.”
“What are you saying?” Queen Arebella’s hand was at her throat.
“Do you deny your involvement?” The inspector turned his head to the side. “Even though you are the only one to prosper from the deaths of the queens?”
“Of course I deny it!” she shrieked. “Someone arrest the inspector for such lurid accusations!”
The inspector pressed his lips together. “I’d be happy to call in another inspector to check my findings, but he’ll come to the same conclusion.” He tapped the comm case strapped to his side. “My discoveries are all recorded here.”
Arebella looked to her advisor. “Jenri, help me! He’s lying!”
I stepped forward. “No, he’s not.” The guards had loosened their grip as the inspector had gone on. “Everything he says is true. Mackiel used me for Queen Arebella’s bidding. They both controlled me and made me kill the queens. I’m not guilty—she is! If you wish to execute me, then Queen Arebella should hang by my side.”
“No!” Queen Arebella’s face had turned red. “I would never kill my mother. I couldn’t!” It was easy to see Arebella as the young, indignant child she really was, as her lies began to unravel.
“That,” the inspector said, “is the first truth you’ve said today.”
Arebella’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yes, yes. I didn’
t kill her.”
“No, you didn’t,” the inspector said. “For she lives.”
Gasps echoed throughout the room. I stumbled. What? Varin’s eyes were as wide as mine.
A woman stood from the crowd, a black veil concealing her face. At first, I thought she was about to faint; then she pulled back her veil.
“Queen Marguerite!” Jenri gasped at the sight of the former Torian queen. “You’re alive!”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Marguerite
Queen of Toria
Rule fifteen: Each year, the queens will decide, in conference with their advisors, who will be granted a dose of HIDRA.
Marguerite realized she wasn’t dead when she saw the face of the inspector leaning over her instead of her royal ancestors—long passed to the quadrant without borders. And while she could not speak, she nodded when he inquired if she was feeling well.
Well was a relative word.
As soon as the poison had touched her skin and sunk down through her tissue to taint her bloodstream, she’d thought it was the end. Her throat still felt raw and her insides as though someone had raked their nails against them, but she was breathing. She was alive.
The inspector explained that while the poison had already done some damage to her other organs, he had been able to prevent it from stopping her heart by using a dose of HIDRA.
Each year, Marguerite had been involved in deciding which critical patient was the most deserving to receive the life-saving treatment; she’d never thought she would be a recipient.
The inspector had explained that the palace doctor had administered a dose of HIDRA when she’d fallen into a coma. Her infected blood had gone into a dialysis machine, was treated by HIDRA, then pumped back into her body to fix her internal injuries.
Marguerite hadn’t known the woman who was HIDRA when she was alive. Now all that was left of her was twenty vials of perfect elixir blood. She wished the woman were still alive to thank.
As days went by, the blood did its work within Marguerite’s body, and she had felt better. Lighter. Each breath was not as though someone had doused a wound with alcohol—the pain lessened and lessened. By the fourth day, she found her voice.
“Why have there been no visitors?” she asked the inspector. She worried the fire had taken more lives than Queen Corra’s. Her chest tightened at the thought. The inspector had remained mostly by her side, but would disappear for long lengths of time.
He looked at her, his face grave. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, Queen Marguerite.”
She sat up in shock, not realizing until that moment she was once again in control of her body. “Why?”
He settled her back into the pillows around her. “For your safety. I worried the assassin would make another attempt on your life if they knew you’d survived.”
“You still do not know who it is?”
A smile touched the inspector’s eyes. “I have a theory that is coming together quite nicely.” Marguerite wanted to ask more, but a wave of fatigue turned her limbs to lead.
“Sleep, Queen Marguerite,” he said. “There is time for your questions. And for all the answers.”
When Marguerite was ready to leave the infirmary, the inspector explained his theory. While it was painful to hear, a part of it made sense. A part that rang true, deep to her bones.
That part was her ruthless, selfish and conniving would-be husband.
It was then that Marguerite remembered someone whispering to her over her still, death-like form, words she thought she’d imagined in her feverish recovery.
Whispers from her daughter, admitting she had killed her.
* * *
—
“MOTHER?” AREBELLA WHISPERED, her voice soft but piercing as the advisors looked upon the queen, risen from the dead.
“I’m alive,” Marguerite replied, but to Jenri. “No thanks to my daughter.”
Jenri gripped Arebella’s shoulder as she threatened to fall from the dais.
“I saw you dead,” Arebella said. “In the infirmary. You were . . .”
Her mother smiled. “A ruse.”
“Yes,” the inspector said. “While I was able to save Queen Marguerite before the poison rotted her insides, I decided to keep her survival a secret. That way I could flush out those responsible for the deaths of the queens. When you saw her, she was in an induced coma. Sleeping, but very much still alive.”
Arebella slumped against the throne, her legs unable to keep her standing. “Alive,” she whispered.
The inspector faced his stunned audience. “I knew from the beginning the person responsible had to be someone who would benefit from the queens’ deaths. But I didn’t know who. Keralie was the first to come forth as a suspect, and while all the evidence pointed to her, her motive was not clear. Yes, she had the means, but why? Why kill all the queens?
“I told no one of Queen Marguerite’s survival, as I feared it would only be temporary. I waited to see who would come forth to claim a throne, and in doing so, they would become my number one suspect. But strangely”—he fiddled with his recording device—“no other royal relatives were found. Which put you, Arebella, as the only suspect.”
“Ridiculous!” Arebella shouted.
“When Queen Marguerite was well enough to speak, she told me how she dreamed her daughter had come to visit and apologized for killing her. But I could not arrest Arebella until I had proof. The hazy drug-induced memories of a convalescing queen would not be enough to condemn Arebella, not when all physical evidence pointed to Keralie. I needed more time for further investigation. Then Keralie found me in the infirmary and told me everything that had happened to her and allowed me to see her memories.” The inspector nodded at Jenri. “And just in time. For it appears you were about to name Lady Arebella queen of all the quadrants.”
“Lady Arebella?” Arebella muttered, tugging on her hair in irritation. “You mean, queen.”
“No.” The inspector focused his black eyes upon her. “You were never queen, don’t you see? How could you be when Queen Marguerite was never truly dead?”
“Why?” Marguerite spoke up, her eyes full of tears as she took in her daughter. She was beautiful, the best parts of her and her father. At least on the outside. “I wanted a different life for you. A better life. Why would you do this? To my sister queens . . .” Her voice broke. “They would’ve loved you as their own.”
“Better?” Arebella spat, her hazel eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You denied me the one thing I wanted. You thought I was too weak to handle the power of the throne.” She spread her arms wide. “But look at what I’ve done.”
“You’ve achieved nothing but manipulating those around you to do your bidding.” Her mother gestured toward the young boy in the gold top hat.
Arebella raised an eyebrow; her derisive expression was strikingly similar to that her mother often wore. “Like any queen would.”
“Queens don’t kill.” How could her daughter be this morally corrupt?
“It was the only way to take what was rightfully mine! The throne!”
Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “You were never meant to have it.”
“Which is why I did what I had to!”
Marguerite’s mouth opened and shut. There was no reasoning with the girl. Her logic was flawed.
“My queen?” the inspector asked Marguerite. “What do you want me to do?”
Behind the angry girl, Marguerite couldn’t help but see the baby she had loved too much to allow her to be entangled within palace politics. And yet look at what had happened. Still, this was the little girl she’d longed to see ever since she’d given her away. She looked exactly as Marguerite had imagined: the same eyes, hair and face. But there was no warmth behind her eyes. Even now, knowing she had been exposed, she showed no remorse. Not even fear.
Could Margu
erite have avoided this if she’d allowed Arebella to know the truth from birth? Or would they still be standing here, three queens slain?
“Take her to the palace prison,” Marguerite said heavily. “I will decide her fate.” She sighed. “In time.”
The inspector nodded, and the guards moved from Varin and Keralie to approach the ousted queen.
“You can’t kill me,” Arebella said as she was put in chains. “You still have no other heirs. I will inherit the throne one day. You can’t live forever!”
“No, I can’t,” Marguerite replied. “But I have enough time to ensure you’ll never rule. For the only person who can change Queenly Law is a queen. A true Quadarian queen. And you have never been queen and never will be.”
She thought her daughter would fight her, would spit words of hate, but Arebella was silent as she was dragged from the room.
“And Mackiel?” Keralie said, pointing to the narrow boy, who tried to appear small in the crowd.
“Don’t worry,” the inspector replied. “He will also answer for his crimes.” He nodded to the guards, and they made to grab for the boy, but he pushed through the crowd, knocking people out of the way before anyone could catch him.
“There’s nowhere to run,” the inspector said calmly. “The palace is still closed.”
But that did not stop the boy, whom Marguerite now recognized—not only from her memories from when he was a baby, but because he was the spitting image of her childhood friend. The friend she had given Arebella to, the friend who was to find a family and raise Arebella far from the palace. What had happened to that sweet childhood friend who had stood by her side while the other children had called her names? How had Mackiel become something dark and twisted?
How had her own daughter?
Mackiel barreled down the aisle, his arms and legs spiraling frantically as he tried to avoid the guards. Rings flew from his fingers as he scrambled toward one of the court exits, his top hat falling behind.
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