More importantly in this moment, did Vott blame her for his loss, as Hanna had? The possibility sat heavy on her heart.
Becka tried to plaster a smile on her face, but she just couldn’t, so she walked forward, teary-eyed. Quinn hung back in the doorway, out of sight but no doubt not out of earshot.
Vott lay on the bed in the corner, propped to nearly sitting on a stack of pillows. White linens surrounded him, and his long white hair stood at all angles despite obvious attempts to groom him while he’d been unconscious. Elder Alaetha sat on a couch which might have been brought into the room just for her, as Becka didn’t recall it being there before. Maura sat on a chair pulled up close to the bed, his hands in her own, her expression full of rare tenderness. His pallor was almost ghost-white, and the sheen in his eyes had paled from his usual sunny gold to an unhealthy dull yellow.
To Becka’s surprise, she wasn’t the only one shedding a tear. Vott and Maura were sharing a rare, vulnerable moment together, their love laid bare to any who might see despite the others present in the room. How was it that people, in times of deep emotion, could appear so relatable? So real?
Becka paused. “Vott? May I come in?”
When he saw her his eyes lit with recognition, his lighthearted expression sobering into a frown. Anxiety gripped her solar plexus, making breathing difficult. Was that concern, or anger?
“Becka! Come in. Come closer.”
Becka walked over, glad the windows in the stuffy, convalescent room had been opened. Vott held out his hand, and Becka hesitated, despite wearing the gloves. Despite knowing he’d already lost his gift.
Her gut burned with the sinking weight of guilt, yet she took his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Alaetha frowned.
“I am glad to see you well,” Vott said.
A tear ran down her cheek, a combination of guilt over her role in his inadvertent poisoning and relief beyond measure that he didn’t appear to hate her as Hanna did. “I’m so sorry, Vott.”
“No, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t take the song of the wind from me.”
“If I hadn’t poured my tea into your mug…”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Becka,” he said, the sharp edge of his words cutting through the room. “Now, Maura just told me someone poisoned you a second time?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’ve recovered.” When he frowned at her, she continued. “Mostly. I’m still fatigued.”
“Becka has risen to the occasion,” Maura said. “She’s even started attending council meetings and assumed oversight of the shifter guards while you were catatonic.”
“Have you?” he asked, a doubtful frown painting his brow, and Becka shrugged. No doubt he knew Brent managed the shifters himself, but she wouldn’t explain that to Maura now. “I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not why I called for you.”
“What did you need?” she asked, surprised he didn’t appear interested in her activities, as it had been the focus of so many of their discussions.
“Maura has been explaining the investigation’s findings. I understand you haven’t found the poisoner yet?”
Fatigue kicking in after her sprint-walk here, Becka pulled up a chair and sat down. “No, they continue to elude us. What do you remember about the poisoning?”
“I remember seeing that ancient tea set out and ready for use. I remember feeling overjoyed to get to use it. And I was so pleased to have the lapsang souchong to share with you.”
Driving the questioning was a reversal of roles for them, but Becka couldn’t help her curiosity, and Vott seemed eager to help. “Did you see who put the tea set out? Or anyone in the rooftop garden before I arrived?”
He shook his head. “Only fae and shifter guards were there. But I remember which ones.”
Quinn stepped into the room. “Can you list them off for me?”
“The enforcers are doing interrogations now,” Maura explained.
Vott’s eyes widened. “Interrogations at House Rowan?”
Elder Alaetha whipped open a hand fan, closing her eyes against her self-generated wind. No doubt the vitriolic elder was appalled, but Becka was grateful she hadn’t jumped into the conversation.
“It’s no worse than a poisoner,” Maura replied, and then sighed dramatically. “Besides, the council outvoted me.”
“Ahh,” he said. Vott turned to Quinn. “Shamus and Luce were with me, but they arrived when I did. There were a pair of house guards, Beore and Oba, who appeared to be walking perimeter and watching the distance for… whatever it is guards watch for?”
“Thank you, Duke Vott,” Quinn replied. He pulled out his phone and stepped out of the room. Becka heard the rumble of his voice speaking in short, clipped tones.
No doubt those four would be next for the hot seat, assuming they hadn’t been there already.
“It’s unfortunate you didn’t see anyone else,” Becka said.
Vott started to say something, and then coughed, a deep, rattling sound. Maura held out a cup for him to take a sip, which seemed to help.
“I am in agreement,” Vott whispered, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “But there is one conversation I remember which stands out in my mind.”
Becka leaned forward on her elbows. “What conversation?”
“When dear Hanna Hawthorne delivered the tea, such a touching gift, really, knowing my proclivities for fine teas, I wasn’t alone. Your brother, Calder, and his paramour, Alvilda, were in my study visiting. I’d mentioned to Calder that I planned to share the tea with you, and then I had talked about how well you have been progressing in your training.”
“Astrid declared Becka guilded just yesterday,” Maura replied.
“I’m so impressed with you. You’ve been doing so well.” He smiled up at Becka, looking every part the proud father.
Becka nodded, basking in her father’s long-sought praise. The moment of joy was tainted by the knowledge that he’d hear about the accident with Hanna and the subsequent impending political war with House Hawthorne.
“Anyway, after Hanna left, Calder spoke to me at length, questioning your position as heir and returning to the manor. His words were heated, and his demeanor unseemly.”
Vott’s admission hit her with the cadence of truth. “Calder and I have spoken a couple of times recently. Although I know from our early exchanges when I’d returned to House Rowan that he didn’t want me back, it seems he’s come to a level of acceptance. Just this morning he behaved in a borderline gracious manner towards me. I can’t imagine he would have poisoned me the night before and then been so kind today.”
Unless he was playing me.
Vott shook his head and threw up his hands. “I could have read it wrong, Becka. But when Maura told me you’d been poisoned yet again, he was honestly the first person to come to mind.”
“I can’t believe you’d point an accusatory finger at our son,” Maura replied, scowling. “He’s a passionate lad, and given to delusions of his own importance, but no poisoner.”
Vott smiled at Maura, and they grasped hands more tightly. “I’m sure you’re right, my dear. Goodness, his paramour, Alvilda, is well-matched for him in that department. She had nothing kind to say of Becka either.”
A chill ran down Becka’s spine. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, every time Calder would lament something, Alvilda would chime in with gusto, parroting his fervor. She sounded like she disliked you more than Calder did, which is ridiculous, as you barely know each other.”
Becka looked up, seeking Quinn, who stood just inside the doorway listening to every word. Becka gave him a “no, it couldn’t be” shrug. He arched a brow and pursed his lips with a “maybe” reply shrug.
Maura shook her head. “Then she’s exactly the wrong partner for our son. He needs someone who’s grounded and level-headed to counter his emotional outbursts.”
Vott’s perspective of Alvilda didn’t fit with Becka’s. Alvilda had always been standoffish or polite to Becka, bu
t instead her father painted her as hateful.
“I’ve seen her hanging on Calder’s arm, and I was at a picnic with her a day or two ago, well before the second poisoning. She wasn’t overly warm, but not quarrelsome either,” Becka replied. “We should speak with her,” she said to Quinn.
“You should let Vott get some rest,” said Illan, strolling into the room with a large glass of something likely vile for Vott to down.
Becka released Vott’s hand and rose to leave before the healer might get any ideas on another similar dose of tonic for herself.
“It’s good to see you well again,” Becka said. “I’ll be by again tomorrow.”
Vott eyed the healer’s concoction with due concern. “Yes, dear. Maybe bring some tea?”
She gasped. “After what it’s done to you, you’d drink tea again?”
He smiled a weak, sad smile. “One cannot blame the tea for the poisoner’s actions, and I love it too much to give it up.”
Becka nodded. “I can do that.”
Becka and Quinn walked out of the infirmary and headed back towards the library where the interrogations were happening.
“Do you think Calder is involved in the poisoning?” Becka asked.
“No, but he’s up to be tested soon,” Quinn replied. “We’ll want to be there for that.”
“Definitely,” Becka replied. “You heard Vott speaking of Alvilda and how much she dislikes me? Could she be a suspect?”
“Yes. Your arrival back into the house prevented her lover from becoming heir. She might have thought, with you out of the way, that Calder would be back in his rightful place.”
“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 and whites.
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.”
Poisoned Shadow: An Urban Fantasy Supernatural Detective Mystery (The Shadow Series Book 2) Page 21