Four Dead Queens(107)

“Hello, darlin’,” said Mackiel as I descended the prison stairs. He was sitting on the floor of his cell, his skinny legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He didn’t look like the boy I’d known all these years; he’d been stripped of his fine—stolen—clothes and jewelry and was dressed in loose-fitting pants and a too-large shirt. Dirt was smudged on his pale cheeks like rouge, his black hair was lank from days without washing, and the kohl around his eyes had been rubbed free—from crying?

He looked tiny, insignificant. Powerless.

While I’d been in the infirmary, both Mackiel and Arebella had been sentenced to life in prison. Mackiel would get his wish to remain within the palace after all.

“Mackiel.” I stepped up to his cell, though not too close—I wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made when he’d come to visit.

“Here to rescue me?” He winked.

“Not in this lifetime or the next,” I said.

“Who’s that?” Arebella asked, her face peering through the bars in the cell next to Mackiel’s. Her golden dress was gone, replaced with rags similar to the ones I’d been wearing only three days earlier. When she saw it was me, she scowled. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I’ve come to say good-bye,” I said to them both, tilting an imaginary hat.

“Kera, darlin’—” he started, but I cut him off.

“I don’t need to listen to anything more you have to say. I came here for you to listen to me.”

“Oh?” he asked. “And what does my Kera have to say?”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Arebella let out a wild laugh. “Out of all the things I imagined you’d say, it was never thank you. Last night, I imagined the inspector visited, then you and . . . my mother—” Her voice broke. “Why hasn’t she come to visit yet?”

“Because you tried to have her killed!” Mackiel spat toward the wall separating their cells.

I wasn’t surprised Queen Marguerite hadn’t visited her devious daughter. I doubted she could look her in the eye. Perhaps she never would.

“I thought she would let me explain,” Arebella said with a sigh. “I could make her understand.” She drew circles in the dirt on the stone floor. “Explain why I had to do what I did. For the throne. For the nation. It was the only way. But she won’t even hear me out! I’ve already imagined exactly what I’ll say and how she’ll—”

“Shut up!” Mackiel screeched at her, pounding his fist on the wall. “No one cares about your stupid imaginings. Just shut up!”

Arebella flinched, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” I asked.

He glared. Clearly, he had no affection toward her. And although I shouldn’t, I felt sorry for the girl. Mackiel had used me too.

“Hurry up, Kera,” he said. “Tell me why you’re here.”

A vein in my neck throbbed, but I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. “I wanted to say thank you,” I repeated. “For you did make me who I am, and while many might see a wild and wicked girl, I am strong. I am resourceful. And because of that, I will survive what you did to me. And much more.”

Mackiel opened his mouth, but I continued, “I am not your victim. I am not your friend. I am not your family. I am not your anything. And I thank you, because without your deadly scheme”—I locked eyes with Arebella—“I might have never left your employ. I might have never found myself—the person I want to be.”

But he didn’t deserve to know who that was. The only person I owed that truth to was me. And my family.

“Now I’m leaving you, and I’ll never look back. But you’ll always remember me”—I gave him my sweetest smile—“that I am sure of.”

I bowed deeply. “And that is all.”

Before he could reply, I darted up the prison stairs.

I turned at the top, smiled, then said, “Get in quick. Get out quicker. Right, Mackiel?”

With that, I left him behind.



* * *



—

    BACK IN COURT, the true Torian queen sat upon her throne. She wore a deep red velvet dress with three black armbands to recognize her lost sisters. Her crown had rightfully been returned, the black veil pushed back over her long hair. The remaining thrones had been removed from the dais. I was happy to see guards posted on either side of her; the security had increased since the murders. Her advisor, Jenri, stood close behind her, his gray eyes never straying far from her face.

“Welcome, Keralie and Varin,” she said with a smile as we entered the room hand in hand. “It’s good to see you looking well.”

No doubt she referred to my new outfit—the cutoff pants of a dermasuit with a deep blue corset and long overcoat from Toria, providing the best comfort from both quadrants.

“Queen Marguerite.” I bowed, keeping Varin’s hand within mine.

She smiled and asked, “Jenri said you wished to speak with me?”

I managed to unstick my tongue from the roof of my suddenly parched mouth. “Yes, my queen. If that’s all right?”

She laughed, though not unkindly. “I know little of you, Keralie, but I would not have thought you shy. Go on.”