Berkeley’s eyes lit with understanding and his smile turned poisonous. “Ah, some city-speak, I suspect. How… quaint and colloquial.”
Irritated over his condescending tone, Becka searched for a reasonable response. “I lived there for the last third of my life.”
“As you say,” he replied. “But why would you not wish to contribute to the lineage of your family as soon as possible?”
Becka didn’t even know where to begin, but, remembering her promise to Vott and Maura, she held her tongue.
“I’m sure it will work itself out in time,” she replied, holding to an enigmatic and thus fae-approved response.
He smiled and inclined his head. “You are welcome at House Birch whenever you are ready.” His gaze shifted to the two shifters behind her and then back to Becka, confusion knitting his brow. “Pardon, but why are Vott’s shifter guards with you?”
Grateful for the change in conversation, Becka smiled. This was an easy explanation. “He assigned them to me after the Shadow-Dweller attack.”
Having uttered the words, Becka didn’t miss how the rhythm of conversation around her hiccupped when the phrase Shadow-Dweller left her lips.
“How curious,” Berkeley replied. “I admit I find the shifters’ presence most unsettling. It’s so rare to see them within fae territory. Unless they are working with the enforcers, of course.” His frown spoke volumes.
You know the shifters can hear you, right?
A short for-a-fae and curvy woman stepped into their conversation, as if invoked. Becka took a half step back, and she sensed the shifters behind her stiffen.
“What a curious excuse! Shadow-Dwellers are but a story told to children to make them behave. Why would Elder Vott feel the need to protect you from boogeymen?” The lady’s arched brow and sneer reeked of contempt.
Becka held her breath a moment and then exhaled slowly. “The Shadow-Dwellers are very much real. Woden… I mean Lagan, proclaimed himself one of them.”
Elder Berkeley’s eyes grew wide with the glint of humor. “You can’t be serious,” he said, incredulous.
The woman’s countenance filled with an icy fury. “I have seen no independent proof of your claim, which you had every reason to invent to justify your transgressions. I grew up with Lord Lagan and he was never anything but kind and generous to me. The word of a city-living fae-touched will never be enough to change my mind.”
Who is this woman?
“You’re from House Holly?” Becka asked.
The fae drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. “Indeed. I am Lady Cordelia and I will not tolerate your lies concerning my kin.”
Could Cordelia also be a Shadow-Dweller like Lagan? Or was this just proof at how well they’d integrated within normal fae society?
“You are welcome to read the enforcers’ reports as well as anyone. It’s all in there,” Becka replied, keeping her voice even.
Cordelia held her hand to her throat. “Oh, I have read them, and from what I can gather, the two of you fought an unsanctioned duel and poor Lagan lost. Most likely defending himself from your dangerous new gift. I know we consider declared duels lawful and a fair test of powers, but since when has a fae died during one?” She shook her head and fanned herself vigorously. “I’m still confused why you weren’t jailed over his death!”
Heat radiated from Becka’s ears, and she had to work to keep her balled fists at her sides. “I told you, he admitted to being a Shadow-Dweller!” Her voice came out louder than she’d intended. Definitely too loud for polite company, based on the heads turned her way.
Elder Berkeley held up his hands. “Now, now… Have some decorum, my dear.”
Ignoring him, Cordelia leaned closer and whispered, “Eventually, you will be held to account.” She backed away and barked out a bitter laugh. “Your house may entertain your wild fantasies, but no one else is required to.”
“Believe what you want,” Becka whispered back. “Lagan was a psychopath.” The memory of her blood running down her leg. His blood on her hands. Even months later, the stark images were still fresh in her mind, pulling her focus inward.
Dazed, Becka ambled off towards where she’d last seen Vott, continuing across the hall and needing a few moments to settle herself. This time others made way for her with no prompting. She strode through a group from House Oak, which she assumed based on their stocky builds, who quieted and parted ways as she passed through. No doubt their stoic intuition informed their actions, discouraging engagement.
Catching sight of Duchess Maura, Becka headed in her direction, taking a moment to compose her thoughts. Her Aunt Astrid, head trainer of the Illusionists Guild, stood next to Maura, deep in discussion with a handful of fae.
As Becka drew near, Maura raised her hand, a silvered orb of energy launching from her fingertips towards the ceiling. It exploded like fireworks, full of harmless, dazzling sparks which drew everyone’s attention.
When the room quieted, Maura spoke. “House Rowan is delighted you’ve made the journey and we welcome you to our annual regional trade negotiations. At this time, all delegates are invited to the council chambers to introduce their terms for discussion. I look forward to hearing your proposals and aiding in the mediation process. Shall we?” She gestured towards the rear staircase.
Lady Wynne of House Ash, who Becka had met briefly yesterday, noticed her and then smiled her way politely. “Will Lady Becka be joining us tonight?” she asked Maura.
Maura’s face was as placid as a lake. “No, she will not. Although she is my legal heir, she’s not yet guilded.”
Wynne’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yes, I had forgotten she’d blossomed into her powers at so advanced an age.”
What am I, a spinster? I’m not that old!
“Does it take longer to train when they start later?” Wynne asked Astrid.
“It varies,” Astrid replied, resplendent in her floor-length red silk dress. “In Becka’s case, the lack of understanding about the unique
