Four Dead Queens(90)

Varin slowly lifted his head but wouldn’t meet my gaze. “A few hours ago, in the sewing room, I fell asleep.” I didn’t understand. We’d both fallen asleep. “When I woke, you were gone. I found you in the corridor twisting the bottle back onto your bracelet.”

That had never happened. Why was he lying? Why would he turn on me?

“Queen Marguerite was found poisoned a short while later,” the inspector said with a nod.

“And the day before.” Varin cleared his throat. “When we were in the utility room, you also disappeared. I thought you’d gone to the bathroom. When you returned, your hair was damp, and you smelled of perfume.”

“When Stessa died,” the inspector said. “The perfumed baths.”

“You’re paying him!” I spat at Mackiel. “Aren’t you? You’re giving him what he wants. He belongs to you now, doesn’t he?”

How stupid! I’d thought I meant something to Varin, but I was wrong. Everyone could be bought, and Mackiel would find the price.

“No, darlin’,” Mackiel replied with a shake of his head.

“You set me up,” I whispered, my chest painfully tight. My vision blurring from tears. “All of you.”

“You’re wrong.” Varin stared straight at me for the first time. “You set me up. You made me think you wanted to help. You made me believe in you, but you were lying this whole time. Lying about your father, lying that you cared. All you wanted to do was kill the queens. It was your plan I saw on those chips. All this time, you said you were the best. I should’ve listened to you.” He laughed cruelly. “How well you played us all.”

My head spun. I pitched forward. The guards pulled, yanking me back.

“And what’s this?” Mackiel said, taking a step toward me. I flinched as his ashen fingers ran over the Eonist crest sewn on the shoulder of my dermasuit. He raised a brow, knowing perfectly well the suit wasn’t—couldn’t be—mine.

“That’s Queen Corra’s,” the inspector said. “Her handmaiden reported one of the dermasuits missing from her rooms.”

Mackiel tsked. “The same Queen Corra who was burned to death by someone setting her room alight. From the inside.”

It looked bad. I knew it looked bad. But it wasn’t true! Why wouldn’t anyone listen?

“Tell us,” one of the guards said, his hot breath crossing my face. “Why’d you do it?”

I shook my head, hair flying across my face. “There’s nothing to tell! I have no reason to kill the queens. Why would I? I have no motive!”

“No motive?” Mackiel spread his charred hands wide. “But what is it you always wanted as a child?” His face was grim, but his taut lips twitched. He wanted to smile. “All the wealth in the quadrant and to rule Toria.”

I shook my head. That was a game. A game we’d played as children. It had meant nothing.

“No!” I jerked forward again, desperate to be free from the binds and these lies.

“I’ve seen Mackiel’s memories,” the inspector interrupted. “What he says is true.”

Everyone was looking at me as though I was a wild and wicked girl. But I wasn’t who they thought I was. I wasn’t Mackiel’s. Although I had to admit I looked guilty: I’d been skulking around the palace for three days; I’d been in the queen’s rooms, with every opportunity to kill them; Varin had told them about the murder weapon—providing them concrete evidence—and Mackiel had given my motive a voice.

“What about this?” one of the guards asked as he shook my binds. A scalpel fell to the floor with a clink, sealing my fate.

“I told you,” Mackiel said with a sad shake of his head. “She’s ruthless.”

There was nothing I could do or say to unscramble his lies.

The inspector held the dagger in one hand and picked up the scalpel in the other. He looked at me, his dark eyes piercing.

“Take her to the palace prison.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT





Arebella



Arebella didn’t need to pretend once she arrived in the palace. Her surprise was real. Her excitement was real. Her admiration was real. She’d never seen such extravagance. Even at night, the palace was a golden-domed jewel. She imagined herself wandering the maze-like corridors, her arms spread wide to brush the gilded walls.

Beautiful. All of it.

She smiled down at her gold dress, knowing how well she belonged without even trying. This was her birthplace—her real home, and finally they were reunited.

Once she had settled into her rooms and been introduced to the rest of her staff, Jenri brought her to the palace infirmary. It smelled of chemicals, which burned the nose and stung the eyes. Arebella blinked, feeling tears form behind her eyes and at the back of her throat.

She expected to see four bodies laid bare, but there was only one covered in a white sheet. Her mother.

The inspector beckoned her forward with his long fingers.

It was strange, standing over the body of her mother, knowing she was responsible for her death. Arebella knew she should feel some kind of sadness, for this was the woman who had brought her into the world, but she felt only the acrid swirl of bitterness. No guilt. Her mother had thought Arebella would be weak, unable to shoulder the burden of the crown. She couldn’t have been more wrong.