Four Dead Queens Read online

  Corra glanced at Marguerite. Marguerite also hadn’t produced an heir after years of trying. She’d been unable to carry to full term—even with the assistance of Eonist medicines. Whispers had spread through the palace that she never would.

  There hadn’t been fewer than four queens for over four hundred years—not since the tenth king of Quadara had taken a wife from each region of his nation. To taste all that Quadara has to offer, he’d famously said. When he had died unexpectedly and his four young wives had yet to produce any heirs, the queens decided they would rule in his place—one for each land of their origin. It had been the simplest solution.

  Marguerite spoke, her shoulders inclined toward the advisors in front of her, her probing expression unchanged. “Surely we have prepared for such an event?” She glanced to her advisor, a tall man with a round and pleasant face named Jenri.

  Jenri nodded. “Yes, that’s correct, my queen. Queenly Law states that a female relative is allowed to take the throne in the absence of a female offspring.”

  Corra knew in these circumstances it wouldn’t matter who this woman was, as long as they continued what the king’s four wives—the original queens of Quadara—had started.

  She could feel the tension; the palace needed an Archian heir, before the Quadarian people learned of Iris’s passing. Only queens could uphold Queenly Law; without the laws, the nation would fall to disarray and give voice to those who questioned the relevance of the four queens and the walls in today’s peaceful age. And it would further fuel the uprising stirring down on the Jetée in Toria; they wanted increased access to Ludia and Eonia, unhappy with their place in the nation’s hierarchy.

  Marguerite tried to keep her people appeased, allowing them to continue to run all trade for Quadara, but she knew they wanted more.

  Alissa nodded to Jenri. “We will begin our search to replace the departed queen at once.”

  “Departed?” Stessa snorted. “Iris was murdered! Her throat cut! You speak as if she chose to leave us.”

  “I apologize for my wording,” Alissa replied, lowering her eyes.

  Marguerite turned to the young queen. “Stessa, this is a tough time for us all. Do not take it out on the advisors. They grieve as we do.”

  Stessa huffed. “Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you can speak down to me. You don’t rule me, or Ludia.”

  Marguerite held her hand out across Corra’s lap to reach for Stessa. “That was not my intention,” she said.

  Stessa merely stared at Marguerite’s fingers. “Well, try harder, then.” Marguerite retracted her hand as though she’d been stung. “With one queen gone, you’re already taking the opportunity to steer this toward your interests.”

  “My interests?” Marguerite sat back in her throne in irritation. “My interests are my quadrant, my sister queens and Quadara. That is all.”

  “Unlikely!” Stessa replied. “You see this as an opportunity to have more of a voice in court! You’re Torian—of course you want to stick your nose into everyone’s business. Why can’t you leave us be?”

  “Stop.” Corra rose from her throne. “We can’t turn on one another.” Iris was the strongest of them all; without her, they were already falling apart. “Why has no one spoken of what happened to her?”

  Marguerite turned from Stessa with a small shake of her head. The two had been close when Stessa had first entered the palace, needing a motherly figure, but now the youngest queen seemed to take offense whenever Marguerite spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Queen Corra,” Alissa began. “I didn’t know you hadn’t heard. It’s terrible, but her throat was—”

  Corra stopped her with a wave of her hand. “No. No one has said who did it. Why are we bickering like children when there was a murderer in the palace? Who still might be in the palace?” Was she the only one focused on the actual issue?

  Stessa sank farther into her chair, curling into herself like a wounded animal. “A murderer?”

  “One does not get murdered without a murderer,” Corra said bluntly. “Don’t be foolish.” She had wanted to say childish, but that was an easy shot. And Corra was not hot-blooded. She was calm. Still.

  Steady hand. Steady heart, Corra reminded herself of her mother’s famous words.

  “Of course we must find an heir for Archia,” Corra said to the advisors, her hand on a small lump where her watch was concealed beneath her dermasuit, “but we can’t forget what brought us here. We have to uncover who killed Iris and why.”

  “She wasn’t very kind,” Stessa replied quietly, studying her black-painted nails.

  Perhaps she wasn’t to Stessa, Corra thought. Iris had issues with the Ludist queen and her wavering temperament. She’d often said that Stessa was too young to take her position seriously.

  “And she wanted too much from this.” Stessa glanced to the words engraved on the walls surrounding them. “More than what’s allowed.”

  Corra snapped her attention to the Ludist queen. “What are you talking about?”

  Stessa glanced away. “You know how she was.” But she left something unsaid, her black brows knitting together, her death mask cracking.

  No one spoke in Iris’s defense. Something inside Corra’s stomach twisted and burned.

  “Queen Iris was a good queen,” Marguerite said finally, her voice steady as though she dared anyone argue with her. She addressed Alissa. “And Queen Corra is correct. We need to uncover how someone made it into the palace undetected and killed Queen Iris. How was this person not spotted? And how were they allowed to carry out such a ghastly act unnoticed?”

  “I will investigate, Queen Marguerite,” Alissa replied.

  “No,” Corra said. All eyes were on her. She lowered her hand from her chest. “We need someone from outside the palace, outside of Queen Iris’s staff. Someone on the outside of influence.” And suspicion.

  The sister queens nodded.

  “I will call an inspector immediately,” Corra said. “We will uncover the truth.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Keralie

  I stared at the back of the messenger’s worn top hat. What was his plan? Ask Mackiel for the comm case? Steal it back?

  Unless he won the comm case in the auction . . .

  There was no way he’d be able to afford it. The comm case was sure to ignite a bidding frenzy. People would fight for the chance to use unique technology from Eonia and witness the quadrant for themselves. While I’d never had the pleasure of the experience myself, I knew comm chips allowed Eonists to share memories as if they were your own.

  The messenger was a fool to come here. Mackiel’s henchmen wouldn’t be far—the mere sight of them was sure to send the boy running back to his perfect, polished quadrant before they even laid a hand on him.

  No one appeared to notice the messenger wasn’t one of their own. But even if I hadn’t seen the black dermasuit tucked beneath his collar, his movements gave him away. Calm and controlled. Not fidgety like Torians. We didn’t have time to be still. We didn’t have the luxury. And he was too clean cut. His sharp cheekbones, defined jaw and perfect skin stood out among the grimy faces in the crowd; the seafarers who hadn’t had time to bathe before the auction began, bringing their sea-tarnished quartiers and the stink of fish along with them.

  I waited for the messenger to reveal his plan, while he waited for his comm case to be unveiled.

  Mackiel’s musical voice filled the room. “And that, my fair Torians, is the last item up for auction this evening.” Everyone groaned in response. He fluttered his hands at them. “Don’t fret! Don’t fret! For my dippers will have a mountain of goods from all the quadrants for tomorrow night.” He tilted his bowler hat, his lips pursed. “No one misses out here!”

  What? I tore my eyes from the messenger to glare at Mackiel. Where was my comm case? Mackiel never held on to a ware for another night, always
sold it as soon as he claimed it, ensuring the owner didn’t come to collect.

  Like the messenger.

  The audience began shuffling out the front door and back to their lives. The fleeting moment when they’d glimpsed another quadrant gone. I stepped to the side to let them pass. When I looked back to the messenger, he’d disappeared.

  What was Mackiel thinking? Had he received an early offer? High-profile clients, those who claimed to be above all that the Jetée had to offer, were allowed to bid early so as not to be spotted in the crowd. Someone like Governor Tyne.

  “You,” a voice said from behind me. A breath tickled my neck.

  I spun.

  It was the messenger. His dark curls were tucked under his hat, his moon-like eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the dark.

  Before I could reply, he pulled me into a side corridor by my sleeve and pressed the edge of a long cylinder to the base of my neck. And although such a device had never been against my skin, I knew the shape. An Eonist destabilizer. “Where is my comm case?” he asked.

  I stood still, not wanting the current to spark my skin and travel to my brain, rendering me unconscious, or worse. Destabilizers were used by wall guards when someone tried to illegally enter another quadrant. On the lowest setting, it resulted in you losing consciousness, and the contents of your bowels. At the highest setting, it liquefied your brain and interior organs.

  “I don’t have it.” I barely moved my lips, let alone anything else. I wanted to keep my insides where they belonged.

  Where were Mackiel’s henchmen when I needed them?

  The messenger kept the destabilizer against my neck. “You played me. You stole from me. Tell me where the comm case is, and I won’t be forced to press this button.”

  “Press the button, and you’re shit out of luck.” He flinched at my curse. Cursing wasn’t allowed in Eonia; it betrayed emotion. But it would be the least of his worries when Mackiel’s henchmen arrived. “You’ll never find out where the comm case is.”

  He pressed the destabilizer harder into my neck. The current tingled my exposed skin.

  “I need that comm case and the chips inside,” he said.

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You have ten seconds.”

  “I told you, I don’t have it.”

  He spun me around to face him. “Where is it, then? Why wasn’t it up for auction?”

  “Drop the destabilizer, and I’ll find out.”

  He studied my face for a moment before loosening his grip. “Okay, agreed.” He jerked his chin backstage. “Take me to it.”

  “Stay here, and I’ll find out when it’s going to be sold.”

  “No. That wasn’t our agreement.”

  Ha, of course! Eonist morality meant their words were like a blood promise—a binding agreement. I could use this to my advantage.

  I tucked a curl behind my ear. “You don’t want to meet Mackiel, trust me. He’ll gut you for coming here. I’ll find out when the comm case is up for auction, and you can return to bid for it then.”

  He stared at me, his Eonist face still. “You want me to bid for an item you stole?”

  I shrugged. “That’s how it works.”

  “That’s not how it works in Eonia.”

  I batted my eyes at him. “You’re not in Eonia.”

  “That comm case and the chips inside belong to me. To my employer.” He fiddled with a small device hooked around his ear, a comm line, allowing him to communicate with someone long distance—an Eonist technology.

  “Now they belong to mine.” I smiled sweetly.

  “You don’t seem to be understanding me.”

  No. This messenger didn’t get it. Mackiel didn’t take well to betrayal. I’d seen dippers kicked out on their ass for a lot less. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—go home. I’d take my chances with this messenger boy. And yet behind his calm Eonist appearance was a hint of desperation.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t. Not really. “You were my target, and the comm case is Mackiel’s now. The only way to get it back is to win it at auction.”

  He must have realized I wasn’t lying, as he released me.

  “If I don’t deliver that comm case,” he said quietly, studying the moldy floorboards, “my job will be forfeited.” He raised his eyes, rimmed with black lashes; a shiver ran along my back from the intensity of his expression. “Without work, they’ll move up my death date.”

  Death date?

  He noticed my confusion and clarified. “I’m as good as dead. Please, I’ll give you anything you want in return.”

  I glanced around the auction house; the floor was a mess of food wrappers and globs of tobacco spittle. Stray dogs were sniffing out anything edible and pissing and shitting wherever they pleased. Without any wares on display and Mackiel’s smoke and mirrors, the auction house’s true form was exposed. And though it stank of unwashed bodies, dog shit and rot, it was home.

  “I’m sorry.” I meant it this time. “What’s on the comm chips?” Coming from the House of Concord, the one place where Eonists, Torians, Ludists and Archians did business together, the memory had to be of high importance. Perhaps it had come from the palace itself?

  “It’s not my job to know, and it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just need them back.”

  “Okay.” I looked around for the other dippers, but they’d all left to follow the auction winners back to their homes for the payment exchange. I was the only one left behind. “Okay,” I repeated. “Wait here and I’ll go get it for you.”

  “No, I’ll come with you.” He pressed a button on the side of his comm line. “I’ll have it soon,” he said to the person on the other end. While Eonists don’t get angry, the receiver’s muffled voice sounded pretty irate. The messenger’s eyes flashed to mine. “Yes, I’ll deliver it tomorrow, first thing.” The messenger pressed the button again, and the other voice went quiet.

  That wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t really going to steal it back for him; I needed to get away and find Mackiel. He’d know what to do. “I told you, that’s not a good idea. You stay here, and I’ll get your comm case back.” I gave him my sweetest Torian smile. “Promise.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  I didn’t blame him. “If Mackiel sees you with me, he’ll know what’s going on.” I gestured to his clothing. “You may have the crowd fooled, but you won’t fool him.”

  He stared at me for a moment before saying, “Be quick.”

  I was getting tired of people telling me that.

  * * *

  —

  MACKIEL’S OFFICE WAS empty, but I knew he wouldn’t be far.

  Stolen wares were locked in a vault hidden behind a Ludist landscape—a maze of canals and bridges—a painting his father had stolen back when he was a fledgling dipper. We all knew what lay behind it, although we would never have dared open it.

  I sat down in Mackiel’s chair to await his return. The harbor looked different from here. Beautiful, even. If you ignored the smell, you could imagine overlooking a vast constellation, the boats’ lanterns on the black sea like stars in the night sky. And Mackiel was king of this nocturnal kingdom. Until the Torian queen tore this place down.

  “What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind me. I spun in the chair, a hand to my chest.

  The messenger stood in the doorway.

  “I told you to stay put!” I gasped for air. I wasn’t used to being snuck up on.

  “Did you get the comm case?”

  “I got tired. Needed to rest first.” I placed my feet up on the desk.

  He stepped toward me, the destabilizer raised. “Stop wasting my time.”

  That was exactly what I was going to do until Mackiel and his henchmen returned. Instead, I accidentally glanced at the painting.

  He
noticed my mistake and approached the wall. He ran his fingers along the brushstrokes before removing the landscape.

  “Oh, well,” I said, looking at the bare brick wall behind the artwork. “I guess I really don’t know where it is.” I tried not to sound too smug.

  “It’s an Eonist safe,” he said. He pressed his hand to the wall. For a moment, the bricks shimmered, as if something reflective lay behind them.

  When had Mackiel upgraded to an Eonist safe? And why? It had to have something to do with the comm case and the chips inside. What memory did they hold that required this kind of security?

  “Open it,” the messenger said with a jerk of his head.

  I pressed my hand to the wall and it shimmered again. “Does this look like something I can open?”

  He let out an exasperated breath. “Open the vault, and I won’t hurt you.”

  I held up my hands. “I’m not lying to you. I can’t open this.”

  “You’re a thief,” he said, disgust dripping from his words.

  “The best,” I added with a grin.

  “Then open it.” He moved forward, the destabilizer pointed toward my head.

  I took a step back. “Let’s not be too hasty here. This is Eonist tech.” I’d heard about Jetée businesses acquiring Eonist security to ward off other Torians. “I don’t even know how it works.”

  “The vault is keyed to the thoughts of its owner. It opens only when the owner wants it to be opened,” he explained.

  “Mackiel will never open it for you.” Where was Mackiel?

  He continued, ignoring me. “The vault is built from microorganisms, like the technology embedded into the material of our dermasuits. At the core, they’re sentient.”

  “This is all very interesting”—I waved my hand at the wall—“but none of this is going to help. I’m a thief, as you said, not a therapist. I can’t help unscramble, or scramble, a mind—whatever the case may be.”

  Hang on. I blinked. I couldn’t scramble a mind, but I knew what could. “Give me your destabilizer.”