“I have decided,” began her grandmother before Hetta could speak, “that we had best distribute as many anti-fae talismans as we can about the borders until we find out what that creature was doing here and if there are more intent on coming.” She frowned and added thoughtfully, “And how she got in with only Gregory’s permission.”
“Ah.” Hetta fidgeted with her sleeve. “Well, I’m afraid there are further revelations to be had.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, dark with suspicion. Marius was still somewhat shell-shocked from the news of Gwendelfear’s identity, and it took him a second to process her words. Once he had, his mouth set in a resigned expression and he nodded. Grandmamma looked on with interest. When Hetta paused to choose her words, she prompted her with an expectant, “Well?”
“I’m not the Lord of Stariel,” Hetta said in a rush. “I’m not the Lord of Stariel,” she repeated, more confidently.
“Oh, well that explains it then,” said Grandmamma. She frowned. “But why—”
Jack swelled with indignation, his colour rising, and he burst out, “What the blazes did you think you were about, Hetta? Was this some kind of poor jest or did you really think no one would notice?”
“Hey, that’s not—” Marius protested, but Hetta cut him off.
“That’s what you think of me, is it?” she seethed. “That I was so desperate to rule that I used my powers to fake the Choosing?”
Jack bristled. “For Simulsen’s sake, Hetta, it doesn’t even matter anymore why you did it. The important thing is to set it right before more fairies descend on Stariel!”
“The Star Stone is a fake!” Marius rose and glared at Jack with a fierceness Hetta hadn’t previously suspected him capable of. “It’s a fake, and we don’t know who did it or why, but it certainly wasn’t Hetta. You’re out of line, Jack.”
Jack flushed, his stance still defiant, but doubt began to creep into his expression. “Why in the hells didn’t you tell me that, then?” he mumbled.
“We are telling you,” Hetta said. She found that her initial flash of white-hot anger had subsided into mere impatience. “It has, you will understand, been a rather busy day!”
Somehow the distance between the three of them had closed, and with them all glowering at each other, the study seemed much smaller than usual. The air between them fairly crackled with enmity.
Grandmamma got to her feet with all the stately grace of a sea liner coasting into port. “Well, I am glad that is all in hand,” she said calmly. She navigated her way between the three of them with unruffled movements. “When you see Wyn, send him up to me. I’ll be in the stillroom.” She paused by the door and added, “And Jack, dear, do stop acting like such a pillock.” The sound of the door closing echoed in the silence she left in her wake.
There was a frozen moment where it seemed they would be stuck staring daggers at each other, but Grandmamma’s exit had made it somewhat difficult to maintain the serious demeanour required. Hetta let out an exasperated sigh and took a step back from Jack, who was beginning to deflate into sullenness.
Marius still roiled with righteous indignation, and Hetta just knew that he was about to demand an apology from Jack. She was moderately certain this would only make Jack less likely to apologise, so she prodded her brother sharply in the shoulder. Marius jumped.
“I think you ought to explain to our dear cousin what we found earlier today. Although he’s jumped to some rather unfortunate conclusions”—she gave Jack a hard look—“he’s not wrong about the seriousness of the situation and the need to remedy it.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said stiffly after an awkward pause, folding his arms. “But you have to own it looked mighty fishy, Hetta.”
Hetta said nothing but didn’t try to hide what she thought of that. He turned away, flushing.
“Marius?” she prompted.
Marius related what they had found earlier with regard to the Star Stone. As Marius spoke, conflicting emotions chased across Jack’s face: scepticism, worry, hope. Hetta didn’t blame him for it. What man wouldn’t be hopeful when presented with a second chance at something he’d thought permanently beyond his grasp?
“Well,” said Jack when Marius had finished telling him about the Stone. “We shall have to make Gwendelfear tell us what the damned fairies did with it then.”
“Actually,” said Hetta, “setting aside how you propose to make Gwendelfear do anything at all that she does not wish to do, I have reason to believe she might not be responsible for this particular incident. Gwendelfear was surprised when she learnt the Star Stone is missing, which doesn’t make sense if she was involved in its disappearance.”
“She could’ve been putting it on for show, to throw us off the scent,” Jack pointed out.
“Possibly,” Hetta acknowledged. “But it’s difficult to fake genuine surprise. The reaction time is slightly slower when one is acting, for one must consciously think of the appropriate response. You do recall that I have spent a great deal of my latter years in the company of actors?”
They both blinked, as if they had temporarily forgotten this fact. Jack nodded reluctantly. “But if it wasn’t fairies who took the Stone, who was it?”
Hetta had been contemplating that question ever since they’d discovered the fake Stone, in between such distracting occurrences as fae princes, and she hadn’t yet come up with a satisfactory answer.
“I don’t know,” she said heavily. “And I’m not sure whether whoever was behind it was trying to target me, you, Marius, or just wanting to cause trouble for Stariel in general. It’s most vexing to consider that my life may have been turned upside down simply to punish someone else.”
“You mean,” said Jack with a scowl, “that someone may have done this to prevent me from becoming lord.”
Marius and Hetta shared a look. Jack wasn’t entirely an idiot, and so when they turned their combined reproof towards him, each of them raising an eyebrow in gentle rebuke, he flushed but said staunchly:
“Well, I’m damned sick of us all dilly-dallying about the subject. I know it’s immodest to own it, but I’ll own it: I expected to be chosen.”
“You shock me,” Hetta said dryly.
Jack grinned, unrepentant.
“Are you going to tell everyone else?” Marius asked abruptly.
The levity drained from Jack’s face, and he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the pair of them, a V forming between his eyebrows. “Why in the nine hells wouldn’t I?” But his mouth thinned into a line and he answered his own question. “You think whoever is responsible will fly the coop if we show our hand.”
“A rather mixed metaphor, but yes,” Marius said.
Jack shook his head, but it was more in distaste for the idea than in disagreement. “Can we make a new Star Stone?”
Marius shrugged. “If you can find a piece of star indigo big enough, then yes. But it will still take time.”
“Fine.” Jack straightened. “Fine.” He bit out the word. “But I’m not keeping up this pretence forever. The Frost Faire. We tell everyone after that, if we haven’t found the Stone by then. That’s a month away. I can keep my mouth shut for that long. But that’s it.” With that, he stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind him.
“Well that’s nice!” Marius glared at the dark wood. “He could at least try to be helpful!”
“To be perfectly frank, that went better than I expected.” Hetta sighed. “And Jack is right that this can’t continue forever. We’ll have to break the news eventually.” Her heart felt oddly heavy. That wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. “I suppose the Faire is as good a timeframe as any.” She gave an impish smile. “How irritating that I cannot merely proclaim Jack my successor and run away to the city without further explanation. The thought is tempting.”
“Is it, though?” Marius cocked his head to one side, grey eyes thoughtful.
Hetta chose not to answer this, instead saying, “Well, I suppose we ought to decide
how we are to catch whoever is behind this.” She went to sit behind the desk. “I’ve been thinking about the illusion used. If it wasn’t fae glamour, then an illusionist would be needed for the task.”
Marius sighed and slid down into the chair that their grandmother had recently vacated. “Would they have had to be present?”
“Possibly. If they weren’t there in person, the spell could either have been linked to me specifically if they had managed to get hold of some part of my physical essence—blood, hair, fingernail clippings,” she expanded at Marius’s frown. “Or the spell could have been designed to activate after a certain number of people had touched it.”
“If it was meant for me, you mean,” Marius said heavily.
“Yes. But there aren’t many illusionists who could do either of those things—that’s difficult magic.” Hetta could have done it, but she hardly suspected herself. “It would be much easier to simply cast the illusion in person at the right time. And if someone did hire an illusionist, it probably wasn’t someone local. How could you trust a local not to gossip, even if you could find someone local with the ability to cast something well enough to convince the crowd? And if it wasn’t a local who did it, then our illusionist might very well be remembered. There aren’t so many strangers passing through Stariel for them to go unremarked.”
Marius was gazing out the window distractedly and didn’t seem to have heard her excellent chain of reasoning. “Marius!” she recalled him. “You might at least praise my powers of deduction. Why, I sound just like a detective from a murder mystery!”
“Oh!” He started. “Oh, yes. Yes, I agree, Hetta. It’s a good thought.”
“Good—you may drive me to the train station tomorrow morning then. I want to ask the stationmaster if any strangers took a train out of Stariel on the days after the Choosing.”
25
The Stationmaster
The station lamps—the only elektric ones on the estate—were still on the next morning when they pulled up. Hetta made a silent vow to see the technology rolled out to the rest of Stariel, lord or not. The morning was cold and still, and the low-lying fog had made the drive a slow, cautionary exercise. She got out of the kineticar and marched briskly up to the ticket office. Marius trailed silently behind her.
The stationmaster spotted them coming and stood watching their approach. As they drew closer, Hetta realised with a jolt that she recognised him—not from her arrival weeks ago but from her precipitous departure six years ago. He’d been an old man then, but he appeared much the same now. He was of that leathery stock that doesn’t change much between the ages of fifty and eighty.
He doffed his hat as they approached. The gesture hadn’t been a personal one, for when they drew closer, his eyes widened and he made the same motion, this time with more intent. “Lord Valstar,” he said. “Mr Valstar.”
“I don’t know your name, sir, but I recognise you,” said Hetta. “I remember you helped me stow my trunk all those years ago when I left for Meridon.” She gave a little laugh. “Though I doubt you remember me from then!”
“Indeed I do, milord. You’ve a strong look of your father to you, if you don’t mind me saying, and I’ve a good memory for faces.”
“Thank you for saying so,” Hetta said, though it wasn’t exactly a compliment. She put on her most charming smile and leaned conspiratorially on the counter separating her from the stationmaster. “I’m afraid I’m here hoping to take advantage of your memory for faces, sir. I wondered if you can remember any strangers leaving on the train the day after the Choosing.”
The stationmaster’s eyebrows shot up. “And why would you be wanting to know that?”
Hetta thought rapidly. She bit her lip, paused, and then said in a low voice: “May I trust you to keep a confidence?”
The stationmaster swelled with pride. “I know when to hold my tongue. I won’t go wagging about it in the village, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Hetta endeavoured to look embarrassed. “I’m afraid it’s a rather awkward matter. A valuable family heirloom was stolen, but it took us a while to notice and a while longer to pinpoint exactly when it had been taken. We now think it was probably taken on the night of the Choosing, when we were all distracted. One of our servants remembers seeing a stranger poking about with a town air to them,” she invented liberally, “and I thought, as a long shot, that it might be worth checking if someone not from the area had departed the day afterwards. Or on the Monday?” She didn’t look at Marius, but she hoped he had enough sense to keep his expression neutral.
The stationmaster had been nodding along. “Can’t trust those not born and bred to the country life. Take their own mother if they thought it’d better their lot,” he said sagely.
“But do you remember? I know it’s a lot to ask.”
The stationmaster thought, furrows forming in his forehead. “Just let me check. We keep a passenger manifest of departures.” He drew an oversized book from a drawer and leafed back through it, his tongue between his teeth as he hummed. “Ah,” he said, finding the relevant date. “You’re in luck. Naught on Sunday morning—there’s no evening train on Sunday—and only two people got on at Stariel on Monday morning. One was Mr Tidwell, who’s been staying with his aunt in the village. He was only taking a short trip down to Greymark, I suppose. I remember him returning yesterday. The other fellow’s likely your man—I’ve got him down as a Mr James Snickett.”
A jolt of recognition ran through Hetta, but she tried to keep it from showing in her voice. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
The stationmaster screwed up his face. “Good-looking man,” he said after a pause. “Blond. Thought he was a Southerner just from the look of him—might’ve heard him speak, though I can’t be sure.”
Hetta thanked him, outwardly composed, inwardly thinking furiously. James Snickett—there was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time.
26
Phone Calls
She expected Marius to say something about her invented story as they made their way back to the kineticar, but he was silent. It was only as he was opening the door to get in that she noticed how mechanical his movements were.
“Marius?” she said softly once they were seated. The kineticar had a heatstone installed, and Hetta fumbled to activate it against the bitter chill.
Marius started. “Yes?”
“I recognised the name—James Snickett. He’s an illusionist. He was at the Meridon School of Illusions, a few years above me.”
Whatever had been distracting Marius, she had his full attention now.
“How well do you know him?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. As I said, he was a few years above me and left while I was still very junior. I’m not sure he would remember me at all—I remember him only because he was considered very talented.” She gave a small, wry grin. “And he was a very handsome young man.”
Marius snorted. “In this case, let us be thankful he was so handsome. But why would he want to fake the Choosing?”
“He wouldn’t. Obviously, someone must have hired him. Which is excellent news—I can contact my friends in Meridon and get them to track down either Mr Snickett or a list of his recent clients. Can we stop at the gatehouse?” She checked her watch. “Bradfield should be up.”
We must get phonelines installed at the house, Hetta thought as the gatekeeper nodded to them in bemusement when they let themselves into the office room of the gatehouse. The two-storey building was of more modern construction than Stariel House. It stood only a few hundred metres from the Home Bridge, the main accessway into the estate proper from Stariel-on-Starwater.
Bradfield picked up the phone, though he sounded flustered.
“The name’s not familiar, but I’ll see what I can find out for you,” he agreed after she’d explained about trying to track down James Snickett, though she kept her reasons vague. “You holding up all right? How’s the aristocratic life going so far?”
<
br /> Well, someone stole the Star Stone and made me an imposter, she wanted to say. Also, fairies are real, and my butler is one. A very attractive one, though Sweet Mother Eostre only know what he’s hiding underneath his skin.
“Er—I’m fine,” she said instead. Brad didn’t notice her tone, distracted by the upcoming show.
“Hang fire—Ida wants to talk to you while I’ve got you,” he said when she thought the conversation over.
Before Hetta could object, she found herself on the receiving end of effusive thanks from Ida for recommending her to Bradfield. “For you know what it’s like, trying to find work as a female mage, and I’ve nowhere near your talent, Hetta!” There was a note of guilt in her friend’s voice. Ida wanted reassurance that Hetta didn’t resent her.
“Er—you’re welcome, Ida. I’m glad you were able to help Brad out of the bind I put him in!” What was she going to do when she was ousted as lord? The space back in Meridon where she’d fit was already closing over. It was slightly lowering to realise her presence wasn’t actually indispensable. She shook her head, annoyed at the direction her thoughts were taking. What had she expected—for Bradfield and the company to sit around pining for her? That would be unreasonable. Even if apparently that’s exactly what I wanted them to do.
She asked Ida if she knew anything about James Snickett.
“James Snickett? Isn’t he the good-looking one from a few years above us?”
“Yes,” Hetta agreed with a laugh. Ida promised to try to find out who his recent clients had been.
When she hung up after agreeing to let Ida take her out for a meal next time she was in Meridon, she found Marius had lapsed back into abstraction. He leaned against the outside of the gatehouse, his focus as distant as the Indigo Mountains rising from the mist blanketing the foothills. His hair stuck out in all directions, a sure sign he’d been restlessly running his hands through it.
The Lord of Stariel Page 16