Four Dead Queens(22)
“But do you want to?” he asked. His face was pensive, his thick brows low over his eyes. Of course an Eonist would offer assistance; unity and civility was their quadrant’s focus. Still, the idea of a warm place to stay while I considered my next move wasn’t such a terrible idea.
“Fine. I’ll relive the memories.”
But he sensed my reluctance and asked, “They’re that bad?”
In that moment, I envied him not knowing what I’d seen. While the Torian queen had hung a heavy cloud over the future of the Jetée—and thus my livelihood—it didn’t mean I wanted her dead. Even though I’d seen the memory of the four queens being killed—from the killer’s perspective, no less—I still couldn’t accept the truth. All of Quadara’s queens had been murdered.
“Worse,” I said. “They’re deadly.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stessa
Queen of Ludia
Rule three: To allow for a thriving culture of art, literature and music, Ludia must not be weighed down by the humdrum concerns of everyday life.
Late in the evening of Iris’s murder, the advisors chose one of the sparser meeting rooms for the Eonist inspector to conduct his enquiries. Now was not the time to convene in a room dripping with golden chandeliers, be encircled by gilded portraits of smiling queens or sit beneath a canopy of murals depicting the varied Quadarian landscape. Murder was a serious business, therefore sixteen-year-old Stessa had worn her most serious outfit—a fitted white silk pantsuit and a simple beaded necklace that wove into her hair and crown—simple for a Ludist. Still, the room was bathed in a warm glow, the glass ceiling allowing a view to the dome above.
Inspector Garvin sat on one side of a large polished wooden table while the sister queens sat opposite, their advisors in the wings. Stessa was unsure if anyone had ever chosen to use this small and boring room before.
She fiddled with her necklace, earning a look from Corra beside her. She knew what Corra thought, what all Eonists thought of her quadrant. Ludists were na?ve, frivolous and shallow. But they didn’t understand. Ludists knew the world was often cruel, that sadness often outweighed happiness and darkness could be a mere step away. But instead of wallowing in this knowledge, Ludists embraced all that was beautiful, light and pleasurable in the world.
And Corra hadn’t seen how Stessa’s hands shook as she dressed for the meeting. She hadn’t seen how the news of Iris’s murder had shattered Stessa’s rosy view of the world. Stessa had never known real hardship and darkness. She lived in a world of laughter and light and she would hold tight to her traditions to get through this trying time.
The inspector placed a clip around his ear and positioned a translucent disc toward his mouth. “I’ve examined the body of Queen Iris,” he said into the recording device. But Stessa didn’t want to hear about how Iris had died, how her killer had sliced her throat so she’d bled out almost instantly. Instead, she studied the inspector.
He appeared middle aged, which surprised her. Corra had said he was widely renowned, solving all of his one thousand cases to date, and so Stessa had imagined an old man. Two deep furrows hung over his piercing black eyes, eyes Stessa was sure would miss nothing, had missed nothing throughout his career. His black hair had a peppering of gray at his temples, making him appear more authoritative. And intimidating.
Stessa’s fingers itched for her black eyeliner. Something so unsightly could be easily fixed with a little dye. Although, she supposed, it did match nicely with his gray dermasuit.
While Stessa couldn’t deny the inspector was attractive—in that older man way—there was something off about his features the longer she looked at him. His ears were a tad too large, his nose a little too prominent—due to genetic tweaking, no doubt.
Worst of all, and the reason Stessa refused to shake the man’s hand when introduced, was the extra bone in each finger. His hands were spiderlike, the additional length tapering off to a point, no fingernails in sight.
Eonists were obsessed with perfecting humanity through genetic mutations. Most genetic tweaking happened in the womb for specific vocations, as per the inspector.
With the majority of Eonia covered in snow and ice, Eonists had to find a way to survive their harsh environment. Over the years, technological evolution had turned toward exploring human evolution, which had led to genetic tweaking. Initially, it had only been to rid humanity of illness and disease, resulting in such treatments as HIDRA, but Eonist geneticists had pushed further, wanting to explore the limits of the human body.
Stessa had heard of geneticists tweaking their patients—or experiments—too far, and even pushing the boundaries of life and death while searching for immortality. Rumors had spread to the palace about some ghastly experiments, but the geneticists had been quick to destroy any evidence of such abominations before the palace could investigate.
Since then, Queen Corra had put stricter rules in place, ensuring the geneticists didn’t push too far.
The inspector’s hands reminded Stessa of a particular story called the “Tweaked Man,” whispered in the Ludist schoolyards to frighten young children: a shell of a man who stole into children’s rooms at night to seize their souls by caressing their temples with long fingers, searching for a suitable soul to satisfy his hollow body.