Four Dead Queens(70)

“What happened?”

“When can we leave?”

“I have plans this afternoon!”

“You can’t do this!”

But the guards were Eonists; the questions didn’t rattle them. They looked out to the crowd, defiant.

“I have to get out of here,” I muttered.

“It’s fine,” Varin said. “They just need a bit more time.”

“No, something is wrong.” I searched the crowd. “Maybe Mackiel has found us.”

“You said yourself that Mackiel is a wanted criminal. He wouldn’t risk coming to the palace.”

“But what if he’s the assassin?”

The walls pressed in closer, and my head spun. The room was too small. Too packed. Not enough air.

There’s a way in, but no way out.

Varin reached for me, his gloved hands lingering on my arm. “It’s okay. He’s not here.”

“You don’t know that.”

He nodded. “Wait here. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

He pushed his way through the crowd toward the guards. I tried to focus on my breathing and reminded myself of how this room was different from the cave. Much larger. Many more people. And I would not be left behind here, my father dying in my arms.

Varin’s face had paled when he returned. “I overheard the guards talking. Queen Iris is dead.”

“But I saw her in the throne room.”

“That must’ve been why they’ve locked down the palace; they’re hoping they’ve captured the assassin inside.”

I glanced around the room, my breaths coming in quicker. “Mackiel.” He’s here. I know it. I can feel him, his presence a pulse within the walls.

“Take a deep breath. We’re safe in here,” Varin said.

Queen Iris wasn’t safe in her own palace. “I’m not going to wait for him to find me caged in here.”

“We don’t have a choice. We can’t act suspicious now. You were right. We need evidence.”

I was too stressed to celebrate that I’d been right. “I’ll go out there.” I tilted my head to the entrance to the throne room. “I’ll find the assassin before he strikes again. I’ll stop him.”

“If the guards find you roaming the palace halls, they’ll think you’re up to no good. You did work for Mackiel, after all.”

“They won’t find me,” I said, moving through the crowd. Varin tried to follow, but he was too broad, too visible.

Now that I had a plan, my lungs began expanding. I was back in control. I could breathe again. I would search the palace hallways for Mackiel. Once I found him, I’d drag him to the guards and force the truth from his lips. Not only would I hand over the head of the black market, but a cold-blooded murderer. I would be rewarded with HIDRA. I would see my family again.

“Stay there,” I mouthed back to Varin. “I’ll be back soon.”

I pressed myself against the wall and approached the nearest doorway. A guard was escorting an annoyed woman in from the adjoining corridor. I stuck my foot out as she stepped across the threshold. As the guards were distracted by helping her up from the ground, I slid out and back into the palace.

No one was better at locating and hitting a target than I was. And Mackiel was next on my list.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





Keralie



The marble corridors were silent and still.

I crept along, my steps as quiet as the gold shadows cast from the dome above. No one would find me, not unless I wanted to be found. I’d been trained for this. I supposed I should thank Mackiel for that. I couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t far away, as if he was watching. He was always watching.

The hum from inside the processing room bled into the connecting corridors, and yet the rest of the building appeared abandoned. I moved deeper into the palace, the hairs standing on the back of my neck.

Voices pattered down the corridor like rain against glass. If I wanted to find out more about the assassin, I needed to move toward the sound of life.

The voices grew louder and more anguished. A wailing bounced off the marble walls, drawing me forward.

I broke into a run, keeping my tread light.

Rounding the corner, I stopped suddenly to hide from a gathering of people inside a walled garden.

The garden was green and lush, and bursting with flowers. Red dominated, ruby buds scattered throughout the emerald foliage. A piece of unbroken blue sky peeked in from above. The sight of freedom was magnetic.

The wailing women each wore large structured Archian dresses—the palace staff. Their faces were pressed into their hands, shoulders racked with sobs. Figures in dermasuits stood by, their hands on their destabilizers. Guards.

They leaned over to look at something . . .

And though a voice inside my head told me I already knew what they were looking at, I needed to see for myself. I took another step closer, holding my breath all the while.

As if the queens above had heard my thoughts, a guard shifted to the side, allowing me a clear view into the garden.

At first it looked as though she was merely sleeping, her body languidly splayed across a wooden settee, her face tilted toward the blue sky, white-blond hair spilling down the back of the chair in waves. But there was no ignoring the gash across her pale skin, dug so deep, white was visible.