Four Dead Queens(78)

Something had been knocked over while I’d slept fitfully. I’d been unable to escape the palace, even in my dreams. The liquid had spilled onto my clothes and into my hair. The room now smelled of perfume, or chemicals, or both.

“Varin,” I said, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

His lids flickered before he opened them. His pupils dilated and contracted. My heart rattled in my chest as he focused on me.

“What happened?” he asked.

I pulled my arm from around him. “We fell asleep.”

He glanced around the room; the glass ceiling revealed the palace dome above. It was still light out. “We needed to rest,” he said.

I let out a sigh. I didn’t disagree, but it felt careless and callous to fall asleep while a killer planned to knock off the queens one by one.

Varin stretched, his muscles shifting against mine. “What should we do now?”

“We should—” My reply was cut short by a sound—a melodic whistling—something that contrasted with the gloom that hung heavy in the palace.

I cracked the door ajar, peeking through the opening as footsteps neared. The whistling grew louder, almost piercing, as a figure in gray walked past.

“The inspector,” Varin mouthed.

We slipped out of the room, maintaining a safe distance as we followed the inspector back to the infirmary. The corridor was deathly quiet. The inspector pressed his palm to the door, his fingers extended like spider legs. So that was his tweaking.

The inspector stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him.

I nodded to Varin and whispered, “Follow me and stay low.”

We slunk around the corner and into the adjoining room, crouching behind a cabinet, our dermasuits giving nothing of our movements away. I should’ve stolen a dermasuit years ago.

The inspector continued whistling as he pulled out sharp implements, each one deadlier than the next, and placed them on the table. Next to the table was a gurney draped in a white sheet; Queen Iris lay upon it, her wound exposed to the chill and medical tang of the room.

It had been bad enough seeing Queen Iris’s blood coat the garden, but seeing her lifeless body displayed like some discarded thing made my stomach clench. Her blood appeared to have been drained: her lips were white, her skin a light blue, and the bloody gash now a thick flap of skin—as if she wore a mask and would sit up at any moment to tear off her face.

I pressed my fist to my mouth and forced myself not to flee.

The inspector stopped whistling and attached a comm line around his ear and pointed the microphone toward his mouth.

“A sharp blade killed Queen Iris,” he said. I startled, thinking he was speaking to us, but he continued without pause. I shuddered as he pulled the skin at Queen Iris’s throat apart with his gloved hands. “A very sharp blade.” Now I understood his tweaking. His fingers were perfectly designed for this job.

I pressed my hand to my mouth harder, wanting to return to the processing room. The smell of piss and body odor sounded pretty good right now compared to this alien place. Varin squeezed my shoulder, although his face was also pale. He nodded once. We needed to find out more about this mysterious inspector and why he’d been here before Queen Iris was murdered.

“I doubt it was any of the other queens,” the inspector said. “I’ve looked into their background, and none have any history of violence or training in weaponry. The only curiosity is Queen Corra.” But the comm chips showed that Queen Corra was on the assassin’s list. She couldn’t be involved.

“I can find no information about her adoptive parents, merely a name. This could mean she has something to hide—perhaps she was raised by a family who opposes Queenly Law?” He pulled out a silver cutting saw. “And she is unemotional, and some would argue that’s what is required to be a successful killer.”

It was strange to hear an Eonist speak of his queen with a matching unemotional tone. I glanced at Varin, but his eyes were locked on the odd man before us.

“But,” he continued, “it has been my experience that one kills for passion, for attainment, and what would Queen Corra have to attain by killing her sister queen?” He gestured to the body on the table as though he had an audience. “And yet the meticulousness of this kill does not display the crimes of passion I’ve seen when investigating other murders. This was a professional kill.”

What did that mean?

He pressed a panel on the wall and another gurney rolled out. He pulled back a sheet and a strange aroma filled the room. “The second body also reveals no prints, although it’s clear force was involved. Her drowning was no accident.”

Queen Stessa dead? No! And when? Varin’s wide eyes mirrored mine. We’d spent nearly all day searching for the assassin, and yet he hadn’t broken his stride, murdering the queens as planned.

The inspector used his fingers to pull something from Queen Stessa’s dress. “A hair,” he remarked. “The color doesn’t appear to belong to the queen; it could belong to our killer. I’ll run further tests.” He placed the implements on the table.

With that, he left the room, passing right by our hiding place. We waited a few moments before standing.

I looked at Queen Stessa’s blue-tinged body. “When did this happen?”

Varin stood, shaking his head. “She must’ve been killed while we were sleeping.”