Four Dead Queens(31)

Iris had known Marguerite’s secrets and told her it was natural to think of her past—the what-ifs—but they were not worth dwelling upon. Iris was good at that. She placed her concerns in a box and shut the lid.

But what if her past had returned and demanded to be addressed? Was that what this meeting was supposed to be about? Change Queenly Law to allow Iris to return to Archia and reconnect with her past? Her family?

The inspector stilled, the recorder hovering in front of his lips. “Queen Marguerite,” he prompted. “You mentioned secrets. What kind of secrets?”

Had she? It must’ve slipped out without her meaning it to. Marguerite didn’t elaborate.

“You must tell me, Queen Marguerite,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You said we were to help one another.”

“They are the palace’s secrets, not yours.” And some are not mine. She shook her head, her auburn curls sweeping across her cheek. “I cannot tell you any more than I could tell my subjects.”

“Then we may never uncover Queen Iris’s assassin.” His tone was annoyingly complacent. Anger boiled through Marguerite’s blood.

“You will,” she commanded. When the inspector did not reply, she pointed at him. “It’s your job. Can you imagine the chaos if the Archians hear of the passing of their dear queen and the person responsible is still roaming the streets, a free man?”

Fury burned across her cheeks and bubbled on her lips as she spoke more quickly. “Iris had no children. Not yet. Her advisor is searching for any female blood relatives to inherit the throne. But if Alissa cannot . . .” A breath shuddered through her. “If she cannot locate a female relative . . .”

Marguerite leaned back into her chair, not knowing how to finish that sentence. There had always been a descendant for each throne. It was Queenly Law. But Iris was stubborn. She had refused to have a child with any of the suitors presented to her across the years.

“Iris claimed to have a niece,” the inspector said. Marguerite had yet to find her voice. She nodded in reply. “So far the advisors have yet to find any evidence of said niece.”

“We should display a message on the Queenly Reports, asking for anyone with information to come forward. Information on the assassin or about Queen Iris’s relatives. We need all the help we can get.”

“No,” the inspector said calmly. “No one outside the palace must know of Queen Iris’s death. We cannot afford the risk of mass panic.”

“We cannot afford not to!” Marguerite waved her hands wildly as she spoke. “Iris is dead! A queen, murdered. We must find the culprit, whatever the cost!” The inspector’s stillness only seemed to anger her more.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Queen Marguerite.” And though he evidently detected her emotion, his tone and expression remained Eonist, detached. “This must be difficult for you. Not only do you have to come to terms with Queen Iris’s death, but that she was murdered and the assassin is still within these walls.”

Marguerite’s hands dropped to the table with a thwack. “What?”

The inspector’s expression remained unchanged.

She gulped at the air, the room suddenly stifling. Her corset was too tight, the layers of her dress weighing heavily upon her, her crown heavy on her head. She wished to tear off the veil and throw it across the room.

“The assassin?” she managed to get out. “You believe they are still in the palace?”

“Yes,” the inspector said. “The palace was closed as soon as the body—” He cleared his throat. “That is, as soon as Queen Iris was found, the guards closed the entrance, and everyone has been detained in the processing room. And she was found not long after her death.”

Her blood still warm. Marguerite remembered the inspector passing on this gory detail in yesterday’s meeting. “Then you know who it is,” Marguerite said. “You’ve captured the killer?”

Please let this be over.

“We hope so. Everyone who was visiting the palace at the time of the murder has been apprehended until I can determine their innocence.” He paused, and Marguerite felt that strange unfamiliar flare of anger heat her chest once more.

Why was he drawing this out? An Eonist should not be this cruel. Or perhaps he was that unfeeling; he did not realize the pain she was in and how every silence caused further ache to her heart.

“No one has left the palace,” he said, finally. “I will find the perpetrator. They will not escape.”

It was as though she had swallowed glass. The pressure in her chest moved, pricking the back of her throat.

“We should gather the queens.” She rose from her chair. “We need to stay together. I must protect them.” With the assassin sharing the same walls, the same air . . . they could be in danger.

“No, Queen Marguerite.” The inspector shook his head once. Sharply. “That is not a good idea.”

“No?” If Iris had been here, she would have had a fit. No one told her no. Especially not a man.

“I’m afraid not.” An expression crossed his face that looked almost like discomfort.

The anger was like acid burning holes inside her chest. “And why not?” she demanded.

“As you said, we must protect the queens. I can’t allow you all to be in the same room until I determine none of you are responsible for Queen Iris’s death and a danger to the others.”