Caeda stood to the side, her grin bordering on predatory. Becka wasn’t sure what it was about the spritely fae that worried her, but she was glad Caeda was on Quinn’s side.
“Do you hate her?” Hamish pressed.
Calder’s gaze met Becka’s, emotions shifting across his face. “When she first returned, I hated her. I missed Tesse dearly. You know everyone loved her.”
“As did I,” Becka replied, feeling connected with him through their shared loss of Tesse, despite their differences in style and temperament.
“And you were just, everything Tesse wasn’t.” Calder looked up at Hamish. “Becka didn’t fit in here. She’s crass and uncultured. Dressed like city trash. Still does.”
It surprised Becka the enforcers were allowing her to hijack the investigation, but perhaps Quinn had directed them to go with the flow. She glanced at the book in her lap, but for once, nothing was happening.
Becka rolled her eyes at him, amazed she could go from commiserating with Calder to irritation in a heartbeat. “Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?”
“Attached to this thing,” he gestured to the interrogator, which continued to swirl steadily in yellow and orange despite his vitriol, “I have no alternative but to be honest with the enforcers, and by extension, you. I didn’t feel you’d earned the honor of being the heir. Having opinions isn’t a crime.”
His smug expression grated on her, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I didn’t just return. I also displaced you as potential heir after Tesse’s death,” Becka said.
“I’ve admitted I hated you, Becka. But I can see that you’re trying. You’ve adapted a bit, and you’ve accepted your responsibilities. I don’t hate you anymore. You’ve faded to a mere frustration.”
Becka sighed. At least the sentiment was mutual. “Do you have larkspur, in any form, within your possession?” She looked at the book, which again wasn’t reacting.
Calder looked to Hamish. “Is she in charge now?”
Hamish shrugged. “Regardless of who asks it, it’s the script. Answer the question.”
Calder shook his head. “No, I don’t have any larkspur.”
The colors swirled smooth as silk.
“Did you poison Lady Becka?” Hamish asked.
“No, I did not.”
Calder’s colors were level as a reflecting pool.
“Have you assisted anyone who you think might harbor ill will against Lady Becka?” Hamish asked.
“Never,” Calder replied.
“Do you suspect anyone of poisoning Lady Becka?”
“No.”
Hamish looked at the interrogator, then at Quinn, and shrugged. It was clear he didn’t think Calder knew anything, but he kept going. “Is there anyone you feel we should focus on?”
“No one. Are we done yet?”
Before anyone else could answer, Becka had to ask one last question. “Wait. Do you know of anyone else who is upset I’m back?”
Finally, she had movement on the pages of the book. Familiar squiggles moved to and fro, but didn’t yet coalesce into a message.
His brow furrowed. “Everyone knows I am emotional at times, sharing my feelings on the situation. Several people have supported me, but I don’t know if that means they’re also upset. Do you know what I mean?”
“You rant about me to get it off your chest?” she said, feeling aggravated that this was his default, normal behavior. But was she upset because he openly vented his emotions, or because he didn’t like her? After all, she wasn’t fond of him either.
“Sure, to willing listeners. Perhaps I’ve gone a bit far. I know Alvilda has encouraged me to calm myself a number of times when I became overly upset, but that’s what good friends—lovers—do.”
Words formed in the squiggles. Anger is an infection.
Becka shivered. “You might be an asshole, but you’re not guilty of poisoning?”
“I’m being honest, and you are still crass.”
Astrid nodded at him in apparent agreement, which didn’t help Becka’s mood one bit. Her gaze flicked to the interrogator, whose screen continued to exhibit smooth ribbons of color. “That’s something we can agree on.”
The words had disappeared from the book.
“We’re done with him,” Quinn announced. “Luce, can you bring in Alvilda?”
Luce disappeared out of the room and returned a moment later, ushering Alvilda in. The lady stepped cautiously into the room, hands wringing, but her expression appeared carefree and relaxed.
Caeda removed the neural cap from Calder and he jumped up, a wide smile across his face at Alvilda’s arrival. He walked over and stepped in close to her, uncaring of others watching their movements. He ran the outside of his hand down her jawline.
“I’ll wait for you outside. Perhaps after you’re done, we can go for a walk to clear our heads?”
Becka wondered if a walk was indeed what he intended. She suspected it was couple-speak for a rendezvous.
Alvilda nodded, her smile not reaching her eyes. Her movements were jerky, and she appeared relieved when Caeda motioned for her to move to the hot seat.
For all that Becka wanted to believe Alvilda was the poisoner, she’d yet to even notice Becka. Instead, her focus was on the enforcers and shifters. And Calder. Becka looked at the book and wasn’t disappointed.
Mask.
Alvilda moved toward the chair, but Calder caught her by the arm. “Wait,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Becka closed the book and jumped to her feet. Astrid, who’d stopped knitting to follow the interaction, set her partial shawl aside and stood up, crossing the room to where Calder and Alvilda stood. Even the enforcers stepped back to give her space, but Becka followed her forward.
“Calder! Let go of me!”
Calder continued to hold Alvilda’s arm. “Your birthmark is missing! Who are you?”
Astrid took a moment, looking to Calder and then to Alvilda. She then stepped in close to the girl, raised her hands in the air before her, and, through a series of hand gestures, dismantled the illusion surrounding the girl.
“Yaeli?” Calder said, confused, releasing her arm. “Where is Alvilda?”
Without the illusion you could see the fear on Yaeli’s face. Now the stiffness in her movements made more sense.
“I didn’t mean to do anything improper, Lady Astrid. Alvilda asked me to cover a duty shift for her while she ran an errand away from the manor. She left just this
