“What’s in this crap?”
“It is a blend of dandelion, ginger, burdock root, reishi, red clover, and of course, kale.”
It was too much to hope that, during her years away, the fae might have tired of kale too? “Wouldn’t want to miss the kale.”
Luce, one of her wolf shifter guards stood at the door, eyeing the glass with revulsion. Becka downed the rest of the smoothie and handed him the glass.
“No, you would not,” Illan replied, oblivious to her sarcasm. “I think a week of these will be sufficient. We’ll check the bandages on your leg each visit, so be prepared for that too.”
Becka sighed. “Whatever you say, Doc. How’s Quinn doing?”
“Ask him yourself.” He motioned towards the infirmary.
Shamus, another of her guards, stood in the doorway between the office and infirmary.
“Thanks again, Illan.”
“I will have another one ready for you before dinner.”
“Two a day?”
Illan flashed her a wry smile. “A bit of advice: blood belongs on the inside. Do your best in the future to avoid exsanguination.”
Becka shuddered, all too aware there might indeed be a next time. “I’ll make every effort. See you later.”
She walked into the infirmary, Shamus proceeding her and Luce taking up the doorway position behind her. Quinn sat on the bed at the end with a corner view of the estates talking on the phone. He wore some loose pants and a lightweight shirt, not his normal attire, but likely easier on his still tender-looking skin. When he looked up and saw her enter, he hung up. He watched her walk over, a smile on his face.
“How are you doing?” she asked, taking a seat next to him on the bed.
“The healer has me on bedrest. I have never been so stir crazy, and it has only been since last night.”
“Illan said they’re shipping you off to Sirona to recuperate. With your constitution, I bet you’ll bounce back before you know it.”
“I hope so.” Tension filled his features as he reached out and laid a hand over hers. “Are you all right?”
“I lost a fair amount of blood and my leg is gonna have a scar, but Tesse’s killer is dead. I’m counting it as a win.”
“I am sorry you got hurt, Becka. I should have been there for you.”
Becka laid her hand over his. “If you’d been there with me, he may have killed you. But I used everything you’d shared with me about him and the shadow-dwellers. I talked his ear off and delayed Woden’s plans. Otherwise you, and then Brent, might not have caught up. Things could have gone much worse for all of us.”
A few minutes of silence passed between them. Quinn took her gloved hand and traced her fingers under the fabric.
“I am glad to see you took Brent up on his offer of guards.”
“I don’t like the loss of privacy, but I’m no idiot. Brent’s got four shifters assigned on a rotation. Maura wanted fae too, but Vott backed me up when I explained Woden said there were more shadow-dwellers here.”
“Good.”
A tight knot gripped the pit of her stomach. Was it anger? Despair? Most likely a little of both. “They’re never going to stop hunting me now, are they?”
“No. They will not. If anything, now that you have proven your powers they will be even more dogged in their pursuit.”
“So what do I do?”
“There’s only one way for you to be safe. The Maker’s Shadow, and all of the shadow-dwellers, need to die.”
Becka laughed, but his expression remained serious. “Oh, well all right then.”
“I have to leave for Sirona today, but I’d like to watch your recognition ceremony, if I may?”
“You’re up to the walk?” she asked.
“Definitely.”
“Speaking of the ceremony, Maura won’t be pleased if I leave everyone waiting,” Becka stood, and Quinn stood up too, although he moved cautiously.
He took in her outfit, and frowned, but he had a slight smile on his face. She was wearing a pair of her favorite bright, springtime yellow palazzo pants and a gauzy sleeveless blouse covered in green, pink, and yellow flowers. “You decided to skip the House of Mirrors penchant for dresses?”
Becka grinned. “I wore my own clothes. And the gloves, of course.”
“I bet Duchess Maura is thrilled.”
Becka leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his lips. “She will be,” she whispered. He grinned at her, a hand resting on her hip possessively. “Walk with me?”
He gestured for her to lead the way and they exited the infirmary. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself until I get back?” he asked, the intensity in his amber gaze took her breath away.
“I’ll do my best. But will Maura allow you to return?” Becka asked, hearing a hitch in her voice. “She was pretty unequivocal in kicking you out.”
“Woden’s claim that there are other shadow-dwellers here opens a door,” he replied. “I am going to work on getting Chief Elowen to sanction a more in-depth investigation.”
She smiled. “That’ll work.”
On the way to the Great Hall, her shifter guards assumed a flanking order, two walking in front and two behind. She felt a bit ridiculous. She’d been walking through the halls of the manor all week and only one person had tried to hurt her.
On second thought, the strong showing of guards wasn’t ridiculous at all. After yesterday’s events, it felt altogether reasonable. And safe. Mostly safe.
They turned the corner into the exterior processional hall which was separated from the Great Hall by panes of stained glass, and the outer wall by a lattice of delicately carved granite.
Alain Hawthorne stood in their path looking every inch the part of the dapper fae, which was a mark of dedicated daily effort. The complexity of his braids alone would have required at least forty minutes by a skilled artisan to maintain. Becka
