Four Dead Queens(69)

“But—” Varin studied me as though he didn’t understand my reaction, or perhaps he knew to expect the worst from me. “Are you going to tell her what we’ve seen? Tell anyone?”

“Tell them I’ve seen the queens murdered, including all the grisly details?” I shook my head again. “The palace would sooner lock me up for treason than believe me—I stole the evidence, remember?” I spread my hands wide. “Our proof was that the queens were dead, but they’re not. And without the chips as evidence, I’m a criminal talking about slaying the queens.”

“But that means the assassin has yet to carry out their plans.” He pursed his lips.

A promise of a deal is not a deal done. While I wanted to be rid of Mackiel, his lessons had gotten me this far.

“We need more information before we can cut a deal with the palace,” I said. “They’ll hardly reward us for evidence of murders that haven’t happened. And if we go back and tell them and then the assassin strikes, we’ll be implicated. It’s only our word that we’re not involved. And what reason do they have to trust us?” I twisted my dipper bracelet around on my wrist. “I’m not saying anything until I’m certain I won’t be arrested because of it.”

“I’ll tell them,” he said. “I’m not a criminal.”

Then I’d lose any bargaining power. “You can’t.”

“Why not? I’m not going to let the queens die.” Now was not the time for Varin to grow a backbone.

I let out a frustrated breath and rubbed the back of my neck. “Please. Give me some time to find more information.”

“You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re not alone in this anymore. We can trust the palace. We can trust the guards. If we tell them what we know, we can help find the assassin with them, and we can use our knowledge to prove we’re on their side.” He pressed his lips together. “You’re not guilty until proven innocent, Keralie. We’re here to help, remember?”

Except I was a criminal.

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” he said. “I’ll vouch for you.”

My chest warmed. Even with Mackiel at my back, I’d never felt safe. I studied Varin’s sincere expression, but it was clear this wasn’t a game to him.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he added.

He seemed to believe there was some good left in me, that I wasn’t beyond saving. But I’d always been willing to take what I wanted from others, regardless of the consequences, and with no guilt. And there was Varin, his expression unguarded, his voice hopeful. He was looking at me as though I was someone else. Someone I wished to be. Someone worthy of my parents’ love.

“All right,” I said. “We’ll tell the authorities. And hope they don’t throw me in jail.”

He gave me a small smile. “They won’t.”

I’d have to work out what to do about HIDRA later.

“Come on,” he said. We joined the queue leading toward the processing room exit.

I was mulling over what I was going to say to the guards about how I’d procured the comm chips in the first place when Varin said, “You’re bleeding. What happened?” His eyes were narrowed on my skirt.

There was blood smeared across my stolen dress. “Shit.” I rolled up the material. Fresh blood wept across my wounded knee. “I fell on it. It must’ve reopened the wound from yesterday.” How had it been merely twenty-four hours since this all began? Since I met Varin?

“You need a dermasuit,” he said, playing with the black material hidden under his shirtsleeve.

“Are you offering to strip for me?” I asked with a grin.

He groaned, although there was a hint of a laugh beneath his breath. “No. I was suggesting if you had a dermasuit, it would heal your wound.”

“You’re suggesting I impersonate an Eonist? Varin, you are full of surprises.”

He didn’t reply, his eyes focusing on something behind me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We aren’t moving.”

I glanced at the crowd. It was crammed with people from different quadrants. Some were beaming, happy with their interactions with their queen. Others spoke heatedly with each other, hands waving. Eonists, as always, were the easiest to spot. Their monochromatic dermasuits and placid expressions contrasted with the lively conversations and colorful outfits. But he was right; we hadn’t made any progress in the line.

“What’s the holdup?” I asked the Torian man in front of me.

The man shrugged. “The guards are no longer letting people leave.”

A weight pressed against my chest. I stumbled backward.

“Shit,” I muttered.

A guard pressed a button by the exit. A metal wall lowered from the ceiling, blocking off the door with a clang.

“The palace apologizes for the delay.” A guard had a comm line looped around his ear; he pressed a button, and his voice amplified throughout the room. It sounded like it came from everywhere and yet nowhere at once. “But we cannot allow anyone to leave the processing room at this time.”

Everyone started speaking at once. Questions were shouted at the guards.

“Why?”