Four Dead Queens(98)

I crumpled to the floor, wiping my hands frantically on my rags. “It can’t be.”

I couldn’t have murdered the queens that violently, that thoughtlessly. I had my own mind. I was not a weapon. I never meant to bring any pain, shed any blood.

But I did. I broke things. I ruined them. Like I’d broken my father.

“That’s one of the benefits of these little darlings.” He twirled a chip around. “You dismiss the memories of the murders as the visions you saw. Because you carried them out in the exact same way. Who could tell the difference?” He winked at me. “Certainly not you.”

I clutched my stomach. I was going to be sick.

What had I been thinking in those moments? When I’d killed each and every queen with my own hands? Had I any thoughts of my own? Or was I an empty vessel, ready for the taking? To be used by someone like Mackiel. The perfect assassin, he’d said.

A doll, that was all I was to him. Something to play with. Something to use. How long had he been grooming me for this, the worst possible act?

“Why?” I moaned.

“Now, now,” Mackiel cooed as I trembled. “Don’t fall apart. That’s not the Kera I know.”

No wonder Varin had turned me in. He’d seen what I’d done. He’d seen the truth.

Only it wasn’t true—not the truth I held in my heart. Yes, I was selfish. Greedy. Vicious, even—at times. But I wasn’t an assassin. Even Mackiel couldn’t turn me into that.

For a moment, I was able to push back the disgust, the tumbling of my stomach at the sight of my hands, and remember that Mackiel had said he didn’t want me to be caught.

“You’re here to free me?” I asked, voice trembling. I could explain. I could tell the inspector I wasn’t in control of my actions. That had to count for something, right?

He frowned. “I’m afraid not, darlin’.”

“But you said—”

“I know.” He held out his healed hands. “Believe me, I didn’t want it to end this way. As I said, you were supposed to escape. The comm chips told you to leave after Queen Marguerite’s murder, but your mind was torn. Instead, you returned to that blasted Eonist. He’s what got you caught. And I had such grand plans for you—”

“More murders?” I sprung to my feet. “How dare you use me! How dare you make me kill the queens! Kill anyone! I thought you cared about me?”

“I do,” he said, leaning forward, gripping the prison bars. “Don’t you see, darlin’? I would never entrust such an important job to anyone other than you.” His grin turned venomous. “But you were the one who turned from me first. You trusted that useless Eonist instead of your closest friend. You cared that he would suffer if he didn’t deliver his comm case. I was meant to come to the palace with you. You weren’t meant to care about anyone but me!” His eyes flashed, a storm breaking. “You forced my hand.”

“I forced your hand? You forced me to kill!” Fury moved my body forward. I reveled in it. I wanted to forget what I’d done. “I wish we’d never met! You took everything from me!”

He tilted his head. “I suppose I did, seeing your final hours are almost up.”

“Why did you come here if not to free me? Was it merely to gloat?”

He looked uncertain for a moment. “I wanted to say good-bye, I suppose.”

“Good-bye?” I spat in his face. Everyone wanted their good-bye. They’d decided who I was, what I’d done and how I’d be punished.

Who do you want to be?

Well, I wasn’t done. Not yet. “I reject your good-bye.”

“Reject it?” He laughed. “You can’t reject a good-bye. You can only receive it, darlin’.”

“Really?” I asked. “Well, this is my good-bye.” I grabbed his lapel and rammed his face into the bars. He let out a gasp. I struck a fist through the bars and into his stomach. He buckled forward, his coat opening.

My hands darted into the shadows of his coat pockets.

“Good, Kera,” he said, wheezing. “Fight to the end.” Then he grabbed my wrist. “But I’ll be needing this.” He pried his lock pick blade from my right hand. “Nice try, though.”

“Damn you!” I wrestled against him.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I truly wish I could let you escape. And I will miss you.”

“Why?” I tore away from him, tears breaking through my resolve and streaking down my face. “Why won’t you help me? After all we’ve been through.” Was there nothing of the old Mackiel left? Nothing that pulled at his heart when he looked at me? Nothing of our childhood on the Jetée?

He glanced upward, to the palace above. “In the end, one must make the best deals for oneself.” He grinned at me. “You were my ticket to power, and I’m not about to undo it by releasing you.”

“Queen Arebella,” I said with understanding. “She orchestrated the murders!” Accept the truth. That was what she’d said when she visited, and it had struck me as an odd thing to say to someone you were convinced had killed your mother.

Not admit the truth, but accept. And now I remembered where I’d seen her before. The girl in the blue bonnet at the auction house that Mackiel had been helping to her seat. She’d been there all along.