“If Calder was heir, she might end up as duchess one day. Who knows, perhaps his anger even spurred her into action? But how would a fae who lives in the territories get access to the Treatment?”
“That’s the key question. There’s no way Alvilda would have been able to access it here, so she must have acquired it on a trip into the city for work. Even then, the Treatment is kept locked up under strict protocols, only distributed and used with authority of the judicial system. She’d have to have very interesting friends.”
“What’s next? Do you think we should schedule her for after Calder and the guards?”
Quinn gave her the side-eye. “We’ve started with guards and immediate family first. We could send for her after we’re done with them.”
“Why not check her next?”
“If she senses we’re on to her, she might run or destroy evidence. I will have Brent put a watch on her, and when she’s away from her room we will see what evidence we can find.”
“Also check Calder’s room,” Becka said. “As his lover, she might have left evidence there as well. We also need to find out what Calder knows. Either he’s working with her or he’s blind to her motivations. I’m not sure which would be worse.”
“Fair point. Plan to keep that book handy for Calder’s questioning, assuming you still think it’s safe to use.”
“I’ll bring it,” she replied. “We’ll see if it helps, but I still don’t trust it.”
As they neared the library, a woman approached them. She was a cousin of Becka’s, but Becka couldn’t remember her name.
“Fair day,” the lady said, holding out a letter. “This came for you in the post.”
Becka held out her hand and took it. “Thank you.”
The lady walked away, errand done. Becka turned over the letter in her hands. The front read “Civil Service — Official Mail.”
“Fairy balls!” she shouted, her curse echoing down the crowded corridor.
Chapter 27
Becka sat curled up on a couch in the library, now an impromptu interrogation room, with the Shadow-Dweller book open upon her lap. Astrid was next to her, continuing her oversight of the process to ensure the enforcers didn’t cross any lines.
Becka surveyed the room. Fae, enforcer, and shifter alike milled about. Many were still coming back from lunch, but no doubt they were awaiting Calder’s arrival before jumping back into the interrogations.
Becka flipped a few pages, continuing to watch for anything unusual, but the pages were quiet for now.
Astrid frowned at the book. “Is that a letter you’re using as a bookmark?”
Becka looked at the edge of the envelope stuffed between the pages of the book. “Yes.”
“You get little mail. Is that your Civil Service notice?”
“I suppose it is,” Becka replied, continuing to page through the book.
Astrid’s eyes widened. “That was unusually quick. Have you read it?”
“I’ll get to it,” Becka replied. “Life is a little busy at the moment for me to worry about it.”
“I look forward to hearing about the notice when you do,” Astrid replied. She leaned over and opened the bag that sat at her feet, pulling out a skein of delicate gray fingering-weight yarn.
Becka looked askance at Astrid, never having imagined her patient enough for a slow craft like knitting. It was something she associated with elders, not ladies in their prime.
Astrid caught her look and let out a heavy sigh. “What? Can’t a master illusionist have pedestrian hobbies?”
“When I think of you, it’s your position as head of the Illusionists Guild or your position on the council. I guess I figured if you wanted something knit, you’d use your gift or buy one.”
“Illusion won’t make this shawl warm nor soft against my skin. Sure, I’ll construct designs upon it for my amusement, or to go with an outfit, but I’ve got to have something of quality to start with.”
“You’re a practical lady in everything you do,” Becka replied, surprising herself with the compliment.
“It’s kind of you to notice,” Astrid replied, a smile gracing her lips as her fingers fell into a steady rhythm with the needles and yarn. “Knitting also keeps my hands busy and lets my mind focus on the task at hand. You should try it sometime.”
Becka stifled a laugh. “Maybe I will. But it seems a slow and laborious craft.”
“As you say,” Astrid replied.
Calder arrived, escorted in by an eager-eyed Caeda. “If you’ll just take a seat here,” she gestured, “I’ll get you hooked up.”
“How long is this indignity going to last?” he asked, his feathers ruffled like a strutting rooster.
“It takes as long as it takes,” Hamish replied. “But it’ll take longer if you stand around whining about it.”
Calder sat, his cheeks flushed. He noticed Astrid and Becka, eyes widening. “What are you two doing here?”
“I am here,” intoned Astrid, “to oversee the proceedings.”
“You’re here to protect me?” Calder asked Astrid.
She shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, I’m here to protect the interests of House Rowan and ensure the enforcers don’t overreach.” Hamish put a hand over his heart, mocking offense, to which Astrid rolled her eyes. “They’ve behaved themselves so far, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“That’s gracious of you to say, Lady Astrid,” Hamish replied. “All right, Caeda. Are we ready to put the screws to him?”
She finished settling the cap on his head, fiddled with the device for a moment, and then nodded to Hamish. “We’re ready.”
“Wait,” Calder said. “Why is Becka here?”
Quinn, who’d been leaning against the wall by the door, spoke up. “She goes where I go. And I’m here.”
Becka blinked at Quinn’s borderline-possessive statement. She should dislike the tone, or the sentiment, but a fluttering sensation hovered in her belly, disproving her desire to dislike his insistence. I’m still mad at him, she reminded herself.
“Fine, whatever,” Calder replied, his tone snappish. The interrogator filled with swirls of yellow and orange. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Happy to,” Hamish replied. “Do you dislike Lady Becka?”
“Yes,” Calder replied without hesitation. The colors swirled in yellows
