Four Dead Queens Read online

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Copyright © 2019 by Astrid Scholte.

  Map copyright © 2019 by Virginia Allyn.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Scholte, Astrid, author.

  Title: Four dead queens / Astrid Scholte.

  Description: New York, NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [2019]

  Summary: Keralie is the best pickpocket in all of the kingdoms of Quadara, but when she steals a “comm disk” and realizes a royal murder plot is afoot, she must learn who to trust and fast.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018016446 | ISBN 9780525513926 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780525513933 (ebook)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Criminals—Fiction. | Assassins—Fiction. | Science fiction. | Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S336533 Fo 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018016446

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 2019 by Theresa Evangelista.

  Version_1

  To the queen in all of us.

  May she be brave, self-confident, opinionated, unapologetic, and determined to achieve her dreams.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map of Quadara

  The Quadrants of Quadara

  Queenly Law

  Part OneChapter One: Keralie

  Chapter Two: Iris, Queen of Archia

  Chapter Three: Keralie

  Chapter Four: Corra, Queen of Eonia

  Chapter Five: Keralie

  Part TwoChapter Six: Keralie

  Chapter Seven: Stessa, Queen of Ludia

  Chapter Eight: Keralie

  Chapter Nine: Marguerite, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Ten: Keralie

  Chapter Eleven: Corra, Queen of Eonia

  Chapter Twelve: Keralie

  Chapter Thirteen: Stessa, Queen of Ludia

  Chapter Fourteen: Keralie

  Chapter Fifteen: Marguerite, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Sixteen: Keralie

  Chapter Seventeen: Corra, Queen of Eonia

  Chapter Eighteen: Keralie

  Chapter Nineteen: Stessa, Queen of Ludia

  Chapter Twenty: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-one: Marguerite, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Twenty-two: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-three: Corra, Queen of Eonia

  Chapter Twenty-four: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-five: Marguerite, Queen of Toria

  Part ThreeChapter Twenty-six: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Keralie

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Keralie

  Chapter Thirty: Keralie

  Chapter Thirty-one: Keralie

  Part FourChapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three: Keralie

  Chapter Thirty-four: Arebella

  Chapter Thirty-five: Keralie

  Chapter Thirty-six: Arebella

  Chapter Thirty-seven: Keralie

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Arebella

  Chapter Thirty-nine: Keralie

  Chapter Forty: Arebella

  Chapter Forty-one: Keralie

  Chapter Forty-two: Arebella

  Chapter Forty-three: Keralie

  Chapter Forty-four: Arebella, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Forty-five: Keralie

  Chapter Forty-six: Arebella, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Forty-seven: Keralie

  Chapter Forty-eight: Marguerite, Queen of Toria

  Chapter Forty-nine: Keralie

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  THE QUADRANTS OF QUADARA

  Archia

  The agricultural isle that values simplicity, hard work and nature.

  Proverb: Trust only in what can be wielded by hand and heart.

  Queen: Iris

  Eonia

  The frozen quadrant that values technology, evolution and a harmonious society.

  Proverb: A turbulent mind produces turbulent times. A peaceful mind heralds peace.

  Queen: Corra

  Toria

  The coastal quadrant that values commerce, curiosity and exploration.

  Proverb: Know everything, and you shall know all.

  Queen: Marguerite

  Ludia

  The pleasure quadrant that values frivolity, music, art and entertainment.

  Proverb: Life is for the revelers with open eyes and open hearts.

  Queen: Stessa

  QUEENLY LAW

  Rule one: To protect the fertile lands of Archia, the queen must uphold the society’s humble but hardworking way of life.

  Rule two: Emotions and relationships cloud judgment. Eonists must concentrate solely on technological advancements, medicine and the community as a whole.

  Rule three: To allow for a thriving culture of art, literature and music, Ludia must not be weighed down by the humdrum concerns of everyday life.

  Rule four: Curiosity and exploration are at the heart of every Torian. This should be encouraged to promote further growth of Toria’s burgeoning society.

  Rule five: A queen must be raised within her own quadrant to learn the ways of her people and not be influenced by the palace’s politics.

  Rule six: Once a queen enters the palace, she is never to visit her homeland again.

  Rule seven: A queen must produce an heir before the age of forty-five, to ensure her royal lineage.

  Rule eight: A queen cannot waste time or emotion on love. She is forbidden to marry, for it is a distraction from her duties.

  Rule nine: Each queen will be appointed one advisor from her own quadrant. They will be her only counsel.

  Rule ten: The advisor from each quadrant must be present in all meetings and involved in all decisions to ensure the queens remain impartial.

  Rule eleven: The power of the queen can only be passed on to her daughter in the event of the queen’s death or her abdication.

  Rule twelve: As soon as a queen passes, her daughter, or the next closest female relative, must be brought to the palace immediately to ascend the throne.

  Rule thirteen: Only a queen may sit upon the throne. When she takes the throne, she accepts the responsibility to rule the quadrant until her dying day.

  Rule fourteen: It is the queens�
�� duty to ensure peace among the quadrants.

  Rule fifteen: Each year, the queens will decide, in conference with their advisors, who will be granted a dose of HIDRA.

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Keralie

  The morning sun caught the palace’s golden dome, flooding the Concord with light. While everyone halted their business and glanced up—as though it were a sign from the four queens themselves—we perched overhead like sea vultures, ready to swoop in and pick them apart.

  “Who shall we choose today?” Mackiel asked. He was leaning against a large screen atop a building that displayed the latest Queenly Reports. He looked like a charming, well-dressed young man from Toria. At least, that was what he looked like.

  “Choices, choices,” I said with a grin.

  He moved to drape his arm heavily around my shoulder. “Who do you feel like being today? A sweet young girl? A damsel in distress? A reluctant seductress?” He puckered his lips at me.

  I laughed and pushed him away. “I’ll be whatever makes us the most money.” I usually picked my targets, but Mackiel had been in a good mood this morning, and I didn’t want to tip the boat. He submerged easily into darkness these days, and I’d have done anything to keep him in the light.

  I shrugged. “You choose.”

  He raised his dark eyebrows before tilting his bowler hat to further survey the crowd. The line of kohl around his lids made his deep-set blue eyes stand out all the more. Nothing escaped his scrutiny. A familiar smirk played at his lips.

  The crisp Concord air was clean, unlike the acrid tang of seaweed, fish and rotted wood that pervaded our home down on Toria’s harbor. It was Quadara’s capital and the most expensive city to live in, as it shared boundaries with Toria, Eonia and Ludia. Archia was the only region separated from the mainland.

  The stores on the ground level sold a variety of approved goods, including Eonist medicines, the latest Ludist fashions and toys, and fresh Archian produce and cured meat—all collated and distributed by Torian traders. Squeals of children, the murmur of business and sighs of queenly gossip bounced between the glass storefronts.

  Behind the buildings rose an opaque golden dome, encapsulating the palace and concealing the confidential dealings within. The palace entrance was an old stone building called the House of Concord.

  As Mackiel searched for a target, he held his middle finger to his lips—an insult to the queens hiding inside their golden dome. When he caught my eye, he tapped his lip and grinned.

  “Him,” he said, his gaze landing on the back of a dark figure who descended the stairs from the House of Concord into the crowded main square. “Get me his comm case.”

  The target was clearly Eonist. While we Torians were bundled up in layers to ward off the biting chill, he wore a tight-fitting black dermasuit over his skin, an Eonist fabric made of millions of microorganisms that maintained body temperature with their secretions. Gross, but handy in the depths of winter.

  “A messenger?” I flashed Mackiel a hard look. The delivery would be of high importance if the messenger was coming from the House of Concord, the only place where Torians, Eonists, Archians and Ludists conducted business together.

  Mackiel scratched at his neck with ring-covered fingers, a nervous habit. “Not up for the challenge?”

  I scoffed. “Of course I am.” I was his best dipper, slipping in and out of pockets with a feather-light touch.

  “And remember—”

  “Get in quick. Get out quicker.”

  He grabbed my arm before I could slip off the roof. His eyes were serious; it had been months since he’d looked at me that way—as though he cared. I almost laughed, but it lodged somewhere between my chest and throat.

  “Don’t get caught,” he said.

  I grinned at his concern. “When have I ever?” I climbed down from the rooftop and into the crowd.

  I hadn’t gotten far when an old man stopped abruptly in front of me and raised his hand to press four fingers to his lips in respect for the queens—the proper greeting, as opposed to Mackiel’s middle-fingered version. I dug in my heels. My spiked soles gripped the well-worn cobblestones. I halted in time, my cheek brushing the back of his shoulders.

  Dammit! What was it about the palace that inspired such slack-jawed stupidity? It wasn’t like you could see anything through the golden glass. And even if you could, so what? The queens didn’t care about us. And certainly not someone like me.

  I slapped the cane from the old man’s hand. He stumbled to the side.

  He turned, his face pinched in annoyance.

  “Sorry!” I said. I fluttered my lashes at him from under my large-brimmed hat. “The crowd pushed in on me.”

  His expression softened. “No worries, my dear.” He tipped his head. “Enjoy your day.”

  I gave him an innocent smile before slipping his silver pocket watch into a fold in my skirt. That would teach him.

  I stood on my toes to find my target. There. He didn’t look much older than me—eighteen, perhaps. His suit clung like a second skin—from his fingertips to his neck, covering his torso, legs and even his feet. While I wrestled with corsets and stiff skirts each and every day, I couldn’t imagine his outfit would be any easier to dress in.

  Still, I envied the material and the freedom of movement it allowed. Like him, my muscles were defined from constantly running, jumping and climbing. While it was not unusual for a Torian to be fit and trim, my muscles weren’t from sailing back and forth to Archia, or from unloading heavy goods at the docks. I’d long been entangled within the darker side of Toria. Hidden beneath my modest layers and pinching corsets, no one knew of my wickedness. My work.

  The messenger hesitated at the bottom of the House of Concord stairs, rearranging something in his bag. Now was my chance. That old man had given me inspiration.

  I dashed toward the polished slate stairs, fixing my eyes on the palace with my best imitation of awe—or rather slack-jawed stupidity—on my face, my four fingers nearing my lips. Approaching the messenger, I snagged my toe in a gap between two tiles and pitched forward like a rag doll. Inelegant, but it would do the job. I’d learned the hard way that any pretense could easily be spotted. And I was nothing if not committed.

  “Ah!” I cried as I crashed into the boy. The rotten part of me enjoyed the thwack as he hit the stones. I landed on top of him, my hands moving to his bag.

  The messenger recovered quickly, pushing me away, his right hand tightly twisted around the bag. Perhaps this wasn’t his first encounter with Mackiel’s dippers. I stopped myself from shooting Mackiel a glare, knowing he’d be watching eagerly from the rooftop.

  He was always watching.

  Changing tactics, I rolled, purposely skinning my knee on the stone ground. I whimpered like the innocent Torian girl I pretended to be. I lifted my head to show my face from under my hat to take him in.

  He had that Eonist look, evenly spaced eyes, full lips, high defined cheekbones and a proud jaw. The look they were engineered for. Curls of black hair framed his tan face. His skin was delicate, but hardy. Not at all like my pale creamy skin, which flaked and chapped in the winter wind and burned in the blistering summer sun. His eyes were on me. They were light, almost colorless, not the standard Eonist brown, which guarded against the sun’s glare. Did it help him see in the dark?

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his face giving nothing away. Eonists’ expressions were generally frozen, like the majority of their quadrant.

  I nodded. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, but his hand was still at his bag; I wasn’t done with this charade just yet.

  He glanced at my black boot, which had scuffed where my toe had caught between the stones, then to my knee cradled in my hands. “You’re bleeding,” he said in surprise. He did indeed think this was a ploy for his belongings.
<
br />   I looked at my white skirt. A blotch of red had spread through my undergarments and was blooming across my knee.

  “Oh my!” I swooned a little. I looked up into the bright sun until tears prickled behind my eyes, then turned back to him.

  “Here.” He grabbed a handkerchief from his bag and handed it to me.

  I bit my lip to hide a grin. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I was distracted by the palace.”

  The messenger’s strange pale eyes flicked to the golden dome behind us. His face betrayed no emotion. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “The way the sun illuminates the dome, it’s as though it were alive.”

  I frowned. Eonists didn’t appreciate beauty. It wasn’t something they valued, which was ironic, considering how generically attractive they all were.

  I bunched the hem of my skirt in my hands and began pulling it up over my knee.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I swallowed down a laugh. “I was checking to see how bad it is.” I pretended I only then remembered where he was from. “Oh!” I rearranged my skirt to cover my legs. “How inappropriate of me.” Intimacy was as foreign as emotions in Eonia.

  “That’s all right.” But he turned his face away.

  “Can you help me up?” I asked. “I think I’ve twisted my ankle.”

  He held out his hands awkwardly before deciding it was safer to grip my covered elbows. I leaned heavily against him, to ensure he didn’t feel any shift in weight as I slipped a hand inside his bag. My fingers grasped something cool and smooth, about the size of my palm. The comm case. I slid it out and into a hidden pocket in my skirt. As soon as he had me on my feet, he released me as though he’d touched a month-old fish.

  “Do you think you can walk?” he asked.

  I nodded but swayed side to side. Novice dippers gave themselves away by dropping the act too soon after retrieving their prize. And my knee did hurt.