Four Dead Queens(81)

Quadara would truly be a united nation. If it had only one queen.

And that queen could be her.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





Keralie



I smelled the smoke before I saw it.

Mackiel had always praised my timing. I knew when to approach my target, when to begin the con, when to retrieve the prize and when to get out. A gift, he’d said, not something that could be taught.

Sure, you could teach someone to be more observant. Quicker. Quieter. But you couldn’t teach the art of timing. Ever since I’d stolen Varin’s comm case, my timing couldn’t have been more off.

The drifting smoke reminded me of the time after Mackiel’s parents had died, when he wouldn’t leave his bedroom for weeks, and the power was cut due to unpaid bills. To stay warm, we pulled up moldy floorboards and burned them in the center of the auction house. Mackiel eventually took charge of his father’s business, but the smoke lingered in the walls like an unwelcome memory for nearly a year.

The heady scent of smoke inside the palace was all wrong. As far as I’d seen, no windows opened to the outside world aside from Queen Iris’s garden. Certainly no chimneys.

The palace was encased in a glass dome, and someone had lit a match within it. There would be no escape. I should never have left Varin’s side.

I expected some kind of siren to go off, a warning, but nothing happened. I followed the scent down the hallway, all the while knowing exactly where it would lead.

Queen Corra’s rooms.

Flames licked up the curtains of the internal bedroom window. Queen Corra’s terrified face was pressed against it, her gloved hand banging on the glass.

A silhouette, surrounded by red flames.

Palace guards and staff had surrounded the entrance to Queen Corra’s rooms, attempting to aid the doomed queen.

“Stand back!” a palace guard yelled to the audience gathered around him. He threw a chair at the glass. It rebounded, leaving the surface unscathed.

I ducked down to the floor to the vent in the wall I’d entered earlier and quickly unscrewed the latch, not caring if anyone saw. But the metal was too hot to touch, and my dermasuit fell apart when I placed my palms on the surface. A column of smoke swirled through the shaft toward me, a storm barely contained.

I gagged, standing upright, my lungs fighting against me. I couldn’t go in there.

Too late. Always too late.

Someone rushed by, not noticing—or caring—I wasn’t one of them, their focus solely on saving their queen. They carried buckets of water, but hung back, unable to subdue the flames through the glass.

My father’s bloodied face flashed behind my lids. I couldn’t do nothing. No, not this time.

“Give it here!” I said, grabbing a metal bucket from a slack-jawed staff member. She squeaked in protest as I tossed the water down the hallway. I gave her a look. “The water’s no use if we can’t break the glass.”

And although I didn’t want to—I didn’t want to see—I stepped up to the window. Queen Corra’s red-rimmed eyes were streaming rivers of tears, whether from the smoke or terror, I couldn’t tell.

I swung the bucket as hard as I could. It hit the glass, reverberating across the window, down through my arms and into my chest.

A scratch left behind, nothing more. The glass must’ve been reinforced.

I took another swing.

Other staff members followed suit, dumping the water and slamming their buckets into the window. Again and again.

Queen Corra’s hand clutched something below the hollow of her throat. Her eyes locked with mine. A moment passed between us. She knew this was the end. Her time was up.

My next swing nearly snapped my wrist. My bucket cluttered to the floor. Queen Corra’s hand pressed against the hot glass, seeking comfort. I forced myself not to turn away, but I couldn’t help the visions on the comm chips from washing over me, providing the details I didn’t want to remember.

A heated flicker. Light. Burning flames. Coughing. Screaming. Tears. Skin bubbling and blistering. Crying. Begging. Brown skin covered in ash like dirt covering a grave.

The assassin watching as Queen Corra burned down to cinders.

Only this wasn’t the comm chips; this was happening right now.

I glanced around wildly. The assassin was here, making sure Queen Corra’s life was snuffed out. But where?

There were too many people in all different kinds of clothes—from different quadrants. It didn’t matter that Queen Corra was Eonist; their faces all held the same horror, a queen dying in front of their eyes.

No one stood out. No one watched in glee.

But the inspector watched on, his long fingers at his comm line. Whoever he was notifying would be too late.

I stumbled back from the glass, my dermasuit suddenly too tight.

I was an imposter.

I’d stolen from a doomed queen. I’d been in her room only yesterday. I could’ve left a note, warning her about her future death. I could’ve done the right thing.

Varin and I had been selfish. We should’ve told the guards the details of the comm chips as soon as we entered the palace, regardless of our lack of evidence. Like Varin had suggested.

No. It was me who was selfish. I only cared about HIDRA. For my father. For myself. For redemption.

“Let me out. Let me out!” Queen Corra cried, her fists pounding against the glass. But I wouldn’t meet her gaze. I couldn’t watch a moment more.