Four Dead Queens(58)

He leapt around the table and lunged for me.

In his rage he hadn’t seen me flick the switch on the incinerator. When he reached me, I shoved his side, propelling him toward the wall and the incinerator drawer.

I’d lied. Of course Mackiel had made me. He made me study my targets. Learn what made them tick. Learn movement. Gravity. Subtle shifts in weight to get what I wanted. And what I wanted was for him to lunge at me.

Mackiel went to brace his hands against the wall to prevent himself from bumping into it, but instead found the hungry mouth of the incinerator.

He was right. I was his. And, for many years, I’d thought he’d been mine.

But not anymore.

I slammed the drawer down and slid the lock across, trapping his hands within the surging heat.

He screamed as his flesh burned.

The woman rushed to release Mackiel from the incinerator.

“Go!” I pushed Varin’s back. His mouth gaped open. “Go, you stupid Eonist!”

The two of us barreled out of the room.

“Get her!” Mackiel cried.

But we were already gone.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





Marguerite


   Queen of Toria



Rule ten: The advisor from each quadrant must be present in all meetings and involved in all decisions to ensure the queens remain impartial.


The inspector summoned the queens to his interrogation room first thing that morning. Marguerite hoped for good news. He’d been sniffing about the palace for two days; surely he had a lead by now?

Corra was already sitting opposite the inspector, her hands clasped together near her throat. Her gaze caught on Marguerite’s black armband. Did sadness dull her brown eyes? She knew Corra would be hurting, regardless of what her quadrant had tried to stamp out of her. Even Eonists were allowed to grieve. In their own way.

She gave Corra a tight smile as she sat beside her. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

Corra was silent for a moment, as though she was vetting her response. Marguerite’s heart hurt, wishing the Eonist queen would let her in, this one time. The queens needed to remain strong. Together.

“I only want the killer found,” Corra eventually replied. It was an honest, and Eonist, answer, but Marguerite still knew she was holding back.

“As do I,” Marguerite said. The bubbling anger within turned into a fire at the mention of the murderer. She wondered if anger could turn her organs to ash?

The inspector ushered the advisors out of the room, then closed the door behind them.

“The advisors must be present, Inspector,” Marguerite said, standing. “Anything addressed to the queens must be heard by all. That is Queenly Law. There are no secrets within the palace.”

The inspector gave her a pointed look before replying, “I’m sorry, Queen Marguerite, but I need to speak with the queens alone.”

Marguerite’s heart started to race, and she gripped the thick material of her skirt to steady herself. “But Queen Stessa is not here yet.”

“I’ll get to that,” he said.

Marguerite glanced at Corra. What did that mean? She reluctantly took her seat, but her body was rigid, as though prepared for a physical blow.

“Have you found the assassin?” Corra asked, her hand still at the hollow of her throat, something Marguerite had noticed was a new habit of Corra’s. “Please, tell us good news.”

“I’m sorry, my queen.” He took the seat opposite her and adjusted the recording device around his ear. “I’m afraid all I have is bad news.”

“What is it?” Marguerite braced for the impact.

“A short time ago,” he began, “Queen Stessa’s body was found—”

He didn’t need to finish. Marguerite was up out of her chair once more, her hand covering her mouth. “No. No. No. No. No.”

“Please sit, Queen Marguerite,” the inspector said, a downward turn at his lips.

“Dead?” Marguerite hated the word. It burned her lips on the way out. The inspector nodded.

“What happened?” Corra asked.

“She was drowned,” the inspector replied, his eyes keenly watching their reactions. Scrutinizing.

“She drowned?” Corra asked. “How? Where?”

The inspector shook his head. “I said she was drowned, not that she drowned. She was found in the baths.”

“Queens above,” Marguerite said, tilting her head back to the opening in the ceiling. “What is happening here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to uncover,” he said. “Did either of you know Queen Stessa couldn’t swim?”

“No,” Marguerite replied, taking her seat. Grief pressed her farther into her chair. Not Stessa. Poor Stessa. She was so young. Close to the same age as my daughter. How could she be dead? “I didn’t know that, Inspector.”

But Corra said, “Yes, I did.” The inspector fixed his eyes on the Eonist queen, as did Marguerite. “She’s Ludist. They don’t swim. They don’t know how.”

“Oh,” Marguerite replied with a nod. “Of course. I suppose I knew, then, too . . .”

The inspector fluttered an elongated hand at her. “I don’t suspect either of you, which is why you’re here. I wanted to inform you both of what happened to Queen Stessa, before the remainder of the palace is informed of her passing.”