Four Dead Queens(37)

Iris’s green eyes lit up. “It’s to remember the time before this”—Iris waved a hand around her—“before your coronation. For that’s what will make you a great queen.”

Iris was no doubt referring to the years Corra was supposed to have spent growing up in her own quadrant. But instead Corra thought of her mother, to whom she’d said her final good-bye mere hours earlier.

Corra should’ve taken the extra time to compose herself. She hadn’t been ready to speak about her mother, her past. Iris didn’t know that Corra had known her mother her whole life and that she hadn’t gone to school to control her emotions. All Corra had was what her mother had told her.

To prevent tears from falling, she found herself whispering her mother’s words. “Be calm, child. Have a steady hand—”

“A steady heart,” Iris had finished, her green eyes widening. “You knew your mother?”

Corra had shaken her head. But it was too late. Iris had seen past the mask Corra had perfected throughout her childhood and into adulthood.

Iris had squeezed Corra’s arm. “Your mother was a great queen, and a fine friend.”

It was too much. Tears fell from Corra’s eyes before she could sweep them away.

She’d been terrified, but rather than turning her in, Iris vowed to keep her secret. “For we all have them,” she’d said.

Their first meeting had shaken Corra. She knew she’d made a friend within the palace, something she’d dreamed of since she was a child.

Iris had been the only person, aside from her adoptive mother, to know Corra’s secret. She began letting her guard down, allowing her emotions to show. Allowing herself to be someone—not only the controlled queen she was born to be. She laughed with Iris. She dreamed of nations beyond Quadara. She dreamed of love.

Corra’s mother would never have denied her that, for it was love that drove her to protect her baby and have her raised inside the palace. Not every Queenly Law was correct. They had been established by four queens, angry with their dead husband, who had allowed Quadara to almost fall to ruin. They had outlawed love from their lives and made the quadrants their only priority, but Corra could not do the same.

And although her emotions had not been stamped out by Eonist schooling, there was no queen who knew more about the palace, Eonia and the other quadrants. Her adoptive mother wasn’t Eonist. Like most of the staff, she’d been Archian, and she shared any and all information she acquired from other members of staff. Corra had also witnessed the shift of power six times. She’d heard about advisors trying to assert their agendas—if their queens weren’t mindful.

The palace had been, and always would be, a part of Corra. As would Iris.

A steady hand. A steady heart.

But only Iris calmed her heart.



* * *



—

    THE MORNING AFTER Iris’s death, Corra’s advisor informed her that the inspector wished to speak with her. Corra managed to pull herself from her bed, donned her gold dermasuit and crown and pulled her braided hair atop her head.

On the way to the inspector, she saw her handmaiden and Alissa in the corridor. Her handmaiden cradled Alissa’s tear-stained face in her hands, her lips by her ear. They both paused when Corra passed by, bowing low in respect, but kept their hands tangled together—no reason to hide their relationship.

A tremor ripped through Corra, knowing she would never hold Iris again. And to hold her in such a public place had always been a dream of theirs. To be like any other couple in Quadara.

Corra was so distracted by her thoughts, she almost bumped into Marguerite as she made to enter the inspector’s designated room.

“Apologies, Marguerite,” Corra said, her voice raw from crying all night.

Marguerite was looking through her, a bewildered expression on her face. Her eyes slowly focused on her. “Corra,” she said, as though she was only now realizing the Eonist queen stood in front of her.

Corra had never seen Marguerite this shaken. Like Iris, she was a strong queen. Corra wanted to ask if she was all right, but the question was absurd. Of course she wasn’t.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to dinner last night,” Corra said. “I was exhausted.” Exhaustion was allowed; grief wasn’t, Corra reminded herself.

Marguerite looked at her for a long moment. Corra wondered if her emotions were showing. After a while, the eldest queen smiled sadly. “I didn’t either.” She squeezed Corra’s arm. “Tonight?”

While it would be draining to keep up the charade, Corra had woken with an intense desire not to be alone. “Yes,” she said.

“Be careful in there.” Marguerite nodded to the room behind her.

Before Corra could ask why, the Torian queen gave her arm one last squeeze, then retreated down the corridor, her long black skirt flowing behind her.

Iris and Marguerite had been close. Did she know Corra’s secret? Was that why she was warning her about the inspector?

The inspector had his recorder looped around his ear when she entered the room. He stood and bowed deeply. Something flickered across his face whenever he looked at her—an echo of emotion, compared to when he addressed the other queens. Respect, she realized. As an Eonist, she was the only queen who had an impact on his quadrant and life.