“Can you please conceal the room when you leave?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Garm turned and stalked to the door, casting a final mistrustful glance my way before he exited.
“I guess that’s our cue,” I said.
Jin nodded. “I’ll call for you if anything changes.”
That would have to be enough. I offered Tavis a shallow bow, collected the cloth-wrapped cup, and turned to lead Etienne and Quentin out the door.
Garm was waiting outside, hands raised. Etienne pulled the door closed before stepping to the side, leaving Garm room to work. I moved to stand beside him, and Quentin moved to stand beside me. Finally, Garm gave a faint nod, and lowered his hands. The air went cold, filling with the scent of moss and still, stagnant water as his illusion began to come together.
The Gwragen are reclusive people who like their privacy even more than the Coblynau. It makes sense that they’re some of the best illusionists in Faerie; a Gwragen-spun illusion can supposedly fool even the Firstborn. I’m certainly not going to argue. The door in the wall grew faint as Garm’s spell took hold, finally vanishing into the stone. The smell of moss and water faded, and Garm turned to face us.
“There are no other entrances,” he said.
“Good,” said Etienne. “Let’s go.”
ELEVEN
WE WALKED IN AN UNEASY FORMATION, Etienne beside me, Quentin slightly behind, and Garm a few feet ahead, occasionally casting glances back at us. I did my best not to glare at him. It wasn’t easy.
Etienne cleared his throat to catch my attention before nodding toward the bundle under my arm. “You said you were being paranoid. About what, precisely?”
“Luna was drinking from this before she fell. If Oleander
“Mortal methods,” he said, amused respect tinged with unavoidable worry.
“They’ve worked pretty well for me so far,” I said, and shrugged. Mortal methods let me find the Queen’s knowe. That got me knighted. It also got her started on hating me. The jury’s still out on whether that was a fair exchange.
“I don’t understand why we can’t do this without her,” said Garm, not turning. “This all seems a little too convenient.”
“Garm,” said Etienne, sharply. “My apologies, October. I’ll have words with him later.”
I was starting to put two and two together. “How long ago did he graduate from being your squire?”
“Just after the turn of the year,” Etienne replied. Raising his voice a bit, he added, “Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of it.”
Garm hunched his shoulders and said nothing.
The fact that Etienne had graduated his squire might mean he was getting ready to take a new one. I glanced at Quentin. He was staring resolutely ahead as he walked, trying to look like he wasn’t listening to our conversation. He was almost succeeding.
Then we reached the place where Luna fell, and all thoughts of squires and knighthoods dropped away.
Grianne was sitting on the railing, with her Merry Dancers spinning around her. Her face was serene as ever, but her skin was glowing a pale green only slightly dimmer than her Merry Dancers, betraying her displeasure. Candela only light up under stress. Several more guards stood along the terrace, protecting the scene from intruders while hopelessly contaminating any evidence. Sometimes the fae ignorance of basic crime scene protocol makes me want to cry.
That wasn’t what made my stomach clench; that honor was reserved for the doors standing open, revealing an empty ballroom, and for Connor, who sat on a chair just outside them with blood covering the front of his tunic.
“What happened?” I asked, voice tight with the strain of keeping myself from running to Connor. I couldn’t lose it. Not now. Later, maybe, but not now.
Grianne gave me an uncomprehending look. One of the other guards said, “With the Duchess indisposed, we ordered the Ball be ended.”
I wheeled on him. “You let people
“Er.” He glanced toward Etienne, looking for support. Etienne shook his head, saying nothing. “Why should they have stayed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a good chance one of them tried to kill your Duchess?” I turned away in disgust, focusing on Connor. He was watching me with pained amusement, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. I walked over and crouched in front of him. “Connor, what happened?”
He managed a weak smile. “I’m not sure. I went looking for the guards, and somebody hit me from behind. I think I hit my nose against the floor.”
“My Dancers found him in a changing room,” said Grianne.
“Oh, for the love of Maeve,” I muttered, casting a glance toward Garm. “Now do you believe I had nothing to do with this?”
“Helpers are not restricted to serving the virtuous,” he replied, standing at attention next to Etienne. “You’ve killed before.”
My eyes widened. “You don’t trust me because I killed Blind Michael?” He didn’t answer. I turned, scanning the assembled guards. “Does anybody else think I might be behind this because I killed a child-stealing monster? Please. Let’s get it all out in the open now, so I can be allowed to do my job.”
No one said anything. But half of them wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I shoved the cup into Connor’s arms, snapping, “Don’t let anyone touch that,” before I straightened and stalked over to the spot where Luna and I were standing before she fell. There were no visible clues. I could smell the sticky-sweet residue of Luna’s wine, but I had no way of knowing whether or not it had been poisoned.
The fact that I could smell the wine at all meant the smell of the roses below wasn’t as strong as it was earlier. I don’t know much about flowers beyond what can be used in simple charms, but I knew Shadowed Hills, and I knew Luna was tied to her roses. If she was sick, they’d be sick, too, out of sympathy.
One thing hadn’t changed; there was no trace of Oleander’s magic. “There’s nothing here,” I said, disgusted. “She didn’t leave a damn thing behind.”
“She who?” asked the knight who’d admitted to clearing the ballroom.
I started back toward Connor, replying, “Oleander de Merelands.”
The guards—except Etienne and Garm, who’d heard it before—erupted into protests. Watching their reactions, I saw a glimmer of logic in sending everyone home. While there was a good chance their actions allowed Oleander to escape, there was a better chance that they had accidentally prevented a riot. Blind Michael might have been a child’s terror, but Oleander was a terror for adults. The record of her crimes goes back centuries. Sure, it’s never been proved that she assassinated King Gilad’s parents, or King Gilad himself; in both cases, other explanations conveniently presented themselves. Too conveniently.
I ignored the arguing guards as I knelt in front of Connor, putting a hand on his knee before I could consider the ramifications of the action. Screw it. If Raysel wanted to start shit with me over touching her husband, she’d just be giving me a target. “Did you see who hit you?”
Connor put his hand over mine. “No. Before you ask, I didn’t hear anything, either.” He shook his head, and winced. “That was dumb. Don’t let me do that again.”
“Gotcha; no head-banging. What happened?”
“I went out to the receiving hall to look for someone I could grab without attracting too much attention.
