Four Dead Queens(48)

“And,” he said, his expression resolute, “if I help the palace, they might help me.”

“What?” Did he say he wanted to do something for himself? I rubbed inside my ear. “Can you repeat that? I’ve suddenly gone hard of hearing.”

A smile played at his lips. “The palace might help me with my”—he swallowed—“health issues. If we help the palace find the assassin, they might change my standing on the list.”

My chest tightened. “The list?”

“For HIDRA. I’ve never even been high up enough to be assessed.”

I merely nodded, my head feeling disconnected to my body. “Right,” I said numbly. “HIDRA.”

I wanted to ask more about the list and how to advance it, but I couldn’t let him know I was also after HIDRA. For it was the one reward we couldn’t share.



* * *



—

“YOU CAN’T COME in,” Varin said when we reached one of the meeting rooms inside the House of Concord. He pressed his palm against a panel, which pinged and displayed his name, occupation and quadrant on a screen above the door.

“Try to stop me.” I shoved by him before he could block the entrance with his frame.

“For the queens’ sake, Keralie, I mean it. They’ll be expecting me to deliver the comm case alone. They’ll suspect something is wrong.”

I shook my head. “I’m not leaving. You’re already a day late; they know something went awry. And you need my eyes.”

Varin startled. “What?”

“It’s my job to analyze people and understand their weaknesses.”

He shook his head, placing his messenger bag on the long metal table in the middle of the room. “My boss told the buyer there was a mix-up that caused the wrong chips to almost be delivered. I don’t need you here.” Well, that hurt.

“Fine. I won’t interfere, but I’m not leaving either.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“You’re not the resourceful type, are you?” I didn’t wait for his reply. I looked around the room for somewhere to hide.

Aside from the large table and surrounding chairs, the room was rather empty. Shelves lined one wall, stacked with books about interquadrant negotiations and law. Beside the shelves were metal drawers, lining the middle of the wall.

I slid the latch to the side and pushed one drawer up to look inside. A tightness clamped across my chest and throat at the sight of the confined space. My breaths started coming in gasps. I closed my eyes, wishing there was another way. Either I’d get in or I’d leave Varin alone with the mastermind behind the queens’ murders.

I placed one leg inside. I wasn’t going to leave him alone in this—as he was alone in everything else in his life. We were in this together now.

“That’s an incinerator.” The shock was evident in Varin’s voice. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s been suggested once or twice.” I squeezed the rest of my body into the tight space. Ash tickled my nose. My chest and stomach constricted; my cheeks flashed hot. I pressed my hands to either side of the incinerator to prove to myself there was plenty of room. Any movement in my periphery was my imagination.

Small breath in.

“It’s used to destroy confidential materials directly after a meeting,” he said, his voice pitching higher.

Small breath out.

When I didn’t reply, he added, “It gets up to more than a thousand degrees in there.”

There’s a way in . . .

“I’ll be fine,” I said, sliding the drawer down—and with it, my way out. “Just don’t turn it on.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





Corra


   Queen of Eonia



Rule eight: A queen cannot waste time or emotion on love. She is forbidden to marry, for it is a distraction from her duties.


Corra knew her mask was slipping. It wouldn’t take much more than a passing glance to realize she was running on raw emotion—emotion that should have been extinguished through years of schooling. She was tired, a bone-deep tired, and pain and anger were the only things fueling her body into action.

But she didn’t take the time to hide it. She had to find out what happened to Iris. And Stessa was the only lead. Iris had known something about the sixteen-year-old queen. Had Stessa silenced her?

Corra barely registered that there were no guards posted at Stessa’s door, nor her advisor. She didn’t bother knocking, instead flung it open with such force it almost rebounded back toward her.

Stessa let out an ear-piercing shriek. For a moment, this distracted Corra from the fact that Stessa was in the arms of a man. Lyker—her Ludist advisor-in-training. His shirt was off, revealing a complicated pattern inked onto his skin.

“I was—I . . .” Corra couldn’t think what to say. All the words spinning through her mind as she walked the hallways to Stessa’s rooms had vanished. Corra blinked, unable to comprehend the scene in front of her. She knew Ludists were impulsive and passionate, but she’d never considered this.

“The throne diverts love,” Iris had said on her final night. This had to be the secret Iris had uncovered about Stessa. A secret worth killing for.