by Sarina Dorie
One of the captains arrived a moment later and shouted orders to the men in his unit, to be heard over the woman’s wailing. “Summon the court physician. Get extra reinforcements. I need to ensure no one leaves the castle.”
The man pointed to Errol. “I leave you in charge, Captain.”
Errol didn’t correct the officer’s mistake in his rank.
Errol bade two men stand outside the door. He sent another to fetch Prince Elric-Atherius. Errol walked along the perimeter of the room, searching for curses and snares, lest this be a trap to lure the prince into harm. There were no curses or enchantments at work. He detected no glamours. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, save for the three dead bodies. The room was so empty of magic it felt wrong.
He crouched before the nurse in the rocking chair, scanning her body for evidence of what might have caused her death. There were markings on her to indicate a struggle. Her lips were purple, and the flesh around her eyes resembled dark bruises. She looked sickly.
Errol turned over the other nursemaid to examine her face. It was the same with her. He also noted the horror frozen in her expression. When he took her wrist to feel for a heartbeat, to be certain she was dead, her arm moved easily enough for someone who might have only just been murdered, but her skin was cold. She should have been warm still. Her hair was streaked with the gray of old age, but her face was young. He had seen such a sight before at the king’s salon.
A single white feather was stuck to the hem of her dark skirt. It might have been down from a pillow, but it was too large.
Winifred looked up at Errol. “Who would do such a thing? To an innocent child?”
“A sick and shameless individual.” His heart contracted in his chest as he said the words, as if he had just uttered an insult to his sovereign’s face.
Just about anyone in the Silver Court was depraved enough to commit this crime. Yet they also claimed to value the life of children because they could have none of their own. The idea it might have been one of the members of the very family he had vowed to protect sickened him.
Errol continued to circle the perimeter of the room, taking note of the bouquet of dead wildflowers, wilted in their vase. They were brown and shriveled but not for lack of water.
“How old are these flowers. Do you know?” he asked Winifred.
“How the bloody hell should I know?” Winifred said through her tears. “My child is dead, and you’re going on about flowers?”
“I beg your pardon.” Errol bowed his head in apology at the calm callousness he’d inadvertently projected. “If we can determine the cause of death, and if it was a Fae who used magic, we might be able to discover who did this so that he or she will be given the appropriate punishment.”
The woman looked down at her child. Beverly also had blue lips and dark eyes. Her face was scrunched up as though she’d been crying.
Winifred allowed Errol to examine her daughter for markings. Unlike the maids, her neck was bruised, small blue circles that might have been the marks of fingers on her flesh. From the way her neck flopped unnaturally, he suspected her neck had been broken.
Errol thought of the cat-bird and the way Quenylda had twisted its neck.
If the princess had been the culprit, she had drained all the life from this room first—or after. From the plants to the people, she had sucked all out of them. It was a skill he’d witnessed at the salon.
Prince Elric-Atherius arrived a moment later. He fell to his knees and cradled his mistress and dead child in his lap. The sight of the prince sobbing broke Errol’s heart. He turned away before he began to cry as well. He had a duty to perform. He needed to remain vigilant and keep the royal family from harm.
Quenylda arrived a moment later, out of breath and followed by two ladies-in-waiting. She glowed a brilliant buttery gold, resembling sunshine in the gloomy room. Magic radiated from her.
Quenylda wore a gown fashioned from the black and white feathers of swans, which looked like they’d been rolled through a press to flatten them out before turning them into layers of a dress. Two long swan necks curled around her shoulders to form the straps to the bodice. One of the swans hissed as the princess stepped into the hallway.
Errol eyed the white feathers of her gown.
“Oh fie! What has happened here! Such a tragedy!” Quenylda flung herself at her husband and Winifred, embracing them both.
Errol wondered how long she had been rehearsing her lines.
“You poor little lambs, you must feel so lost. Let me take care of you,” she said.
King Viridios himself appeared a moment later. “What is the meaning of this? This child was under my protection. I will not suffer my enemies to live after committing such a deed against one in my household.”
Bees exploded from the king, swarming with an angry buzz of indignation. Goblins poured out of the shadows, scrambling up the walls and clawing each other to reach the king’s side.
“Perhaps it was the Raven Court,” Quenylda suggested. “Or another house jealous of our own.”
“Go.” The king pointed to his goblins and swept a hand toward the door. “Find my enemies, and do not allow them to escape.”
Prince Elric-Atherius covered his daughter’s dead body and Winifred with his own body to keep the shadow goblins from scampering over them. Errol glamoured himself invisible, but the shadow goblins dug their claws into his flesh and scrambled over him all the same. They chattered among themselves in a dialect made of the snapping of twigs and the scraping of bark in the wind. He could almost comprehend their words.
King Viridios understood them. “Indeed. Search the castle. Do not allow anyone to leave.”
They dispersed from the room, and when those who had been there were gone, more erupted from the shadows, like a pot boiling over. Their feet scratched against the floor. Errol tried not to flinch as another rush of them washed over him.
“I will find your child’s murderer,” King Viridios promised his son.
Errol’s gaze flickered to Quenylda. It would be difficult for the shadow goblins to find the true culprit when she was sitting in this very room.
* * *
Errol knew there was a certain protocol for doing things. He had been taught as much in the navy, air navy, and cavalry. It was the same with the royal guard. An incident such as this required a report. What he said would be important in providing evidence to the king.
Errol wrote his report, noting all the evidence he had found that explained the cause of the child’s death. He also wrote about the feather he had found and what each of the royal family were wearing. He thought his report would be enough for his captain to inform the major who would pass it on to the major general or to the general himself so that the king might be advised.
Captain Kasen called Errol into his office when his shift was over, and he should have been permitted rest. Only when Kasen began to shout did Errol realize he’d been summoned to be chastised.
“Do you understand what you are implying in this report?” Kasen barked. “This is treason! You are accusing our sovereign’s daughter of murder.”
“I simply listed my observations.”
Captain Kasen slammed his fist on the table. “Your observations were wrong.”
“I know what I saw.”
“It isn’t our business to interfere with the lives of royalty. You’ve always thought you were special, and that the king will protect you, but you are mistaken. The report has been destroyed.” Captain Kasen pushed a quill and piece of parchment forward. “You will write another and omit any insinuation that the king’s family is involved in this death.”
Errol did as his captain instructed, rage boiling inside him. His captain was as bad as the Silver Court.
“Is there anyone else you shared this slander with?” Captain Kasen demanded.
Errol thought about Winifred, Prince Elric-Atherius’ mistress. She knew about her daughter’s neck being broken,
and he had pointed out that those in the room had been drained. Anyone could have observed that. Others might even have put together the details of the bird’s neck being broken and then the child’s.
It was the feather and what Princess Quenylda had been wearing that was the true link. He had spoken with no one about that.
“No, sir,” Errol said.
“And this feather you observed? Where is it?” Captain Kasen asked.
“I expect it’s still stuck to the hem of the nursemaid’s skirt. Or it may have fallen off when her body was removed from the room.” Sweat trickled down the back of Errol’s neck. He attempted to keep his tone calm, to keep the lie out of his voice.
Captain Kasen relaxed into his chair. “I see. Good.”
The feather was, in fact, in Errol’s pocket.
* * *
Errol knew he was taking a great risk returning to the section of the castle that housed the royal family. His shift was over. He had no excuse to be in the castle. Certainly he could lie, but the problem with liars was they could be caught. That, and he didn’t want to be dishonest.
Even so, Errol had to do something. Perhaps his captain was correct, and Errol couldn’t tell the king because it would cause him shame that he would have to publicly admit his own daughter was a jealous, backstabbing monster. If he were forced to execute her, he might take that out on Errol—whether he was the king’s very distant cousin or not.
Yet Errol couldn’t allow this crime to go unpunished. He couldn’t rest with such injustice permitted to go without note. He didn’t know what to do, which was why he went to Princess Steorra.
Errol glamoured himself invisible as he strode through the castle. He passed servants and Fae nobility alike who didn’t even look his way. Guards at their posts, most of them also glamoured, said nothing to him.
One lieutenant passing him saw through Errol’s glamour and gave him a nod.
Errol went directly to Princess Steorra’s chamber. There were guards patrolling in the corridor outside her room. She might have guards inside, or a lady-in-waiting, who might report his conduct, but it was a risk he would have to take. Errol passed through one of the invisible portals into her sitting room. It was dark, save for a ceiling of luminescent moths that illuminated just enough of the room to permit him to see his way without bumping into anything.
He paused just outside her private chamber, uncertain whether he should knock and risk drawing attention to himself or sneak in and wake her—which also might cause a scandal.
Perhaps the scandal of that was less than him being there to discuss his supposedly treasonous observations. Errol found another invisible doorway and stepped through.
The moment he had, he wished he hadn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Compromising Position
Errol wondered what he had done to bring such bad luck upon himself. If it wasn’t something he was saying, it was something he was doing that got him in trouble. Alma was always accusing him of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and he could see she was correct.
The moment Errol stepped through the wall into Princess Steorra’s private chamber, he was blinded by the many lamps, candles, and sconces lit. Yet no lamp was brighter than Steorra herself, brimming with muse magic so radiant she resembled the sun.
The light clearly illuminated the scene before Errol.
Princess Steorra was in bed with her lover. A human lover—something considered below pure-blooded Fae.
And a female lover at that.
At least she wasn’t in bed with her brother as Quenylda was always accusing her of.
Princess Steorra turned just in time to catch him about to duck back out of the room.
“Who’s there?” She drew away from her lover, her voice stern. She tugged the blankets more modestly around herself.
Her lover said something calming in Italian. Errol had learned enough of that language from sailors to know she was saying no one was there, but Steorra was capable of sensing him through his glamour. She had done it before.
“It is I, Lieutenant Errol.” Errol let his glamour slide away. “I beg your pardon. I had hoped you would be alone.”
She raised an eyebrow. “This is quite unexpected. You don’t usually come to my private chamber for lessons.”
“No, Your Highness. This isn’t regarding lessons.” His cheeks flushed, and he tried not to imagine the kind of lessons she might impart in her bedroom.
Steorra’s human lover whispered something in her ear. The woman had to be in her late sixties, but she was attractive, with the vibrant qualities of an artist. The air around her tasted of oil paints and brushes made from hog bristles Creativity made her soul bright and feverish. He could see why Steorra found her attractive.
“Mi scusi, per favore,” Steorra said. She introduced Errol to her lover. The woman’s name was Sofonisba Anguissola.
“I imagine you must have something dire to discuss with me if you’re coming to my room this late.” Steorra’s lips curled up into a teasing smile.
“Indeed. I trust you heard about the death of Prince Elric-Atherius’ child earlier today.”
The shock on Steorra’s face told him she hadn’t. She turned to her lover and spoke in rapid Italian before speaking to Errol.
“I believe I’m underdressed for this news,” Steorra said. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable waiting for me in the sitting room?”
Errol stood in the adjoining room, waiting. Already he was regretting his decision. Steorra’s lover had witnessed him interrupting her. If word got out that he had invited himself into her private bedchamber, he would be in more trouble than he knew what to do with.
At last, Steorra came out wearing a ruffled white wrap over her linen nightgown. She sat at one of the cushioned seats before a low table and indicated he should sit as well. Reluctantly, he did so.
“No one told me Beverly had died today. I didn’t know anyone had. All I knew was that someone had attacked, and the artist I was entertaining couldn’t be permitted to go home.” Her cheeks turned rosy as apples. “She had to stay the night. So I told her she could stay in my room.”
“Oh, um. That was charitable of you to. . . .” He couldn’t think of any way to end that sentence that didn’t involve the words “share your bed,” which had a particularly scandalous meaning in this case. “I will not repeat what I saw.”
Steorra waved him off. “It isn’t as if my family doesn’t know that I have certain proclivities. I’m like Elric-Atherius in that I prefer the company of Witchkin and Morties. After my husband’s death, Queen Anwynn realized I also preferred female lovers to male. It disturbed her so much that I wouldn’t do my duty to bear as many heirs as possible that I vowed to only keep the company of women.” A smile laced her lips.
Errol didn’t know how a family that had an orgy in front of each other could find two women in bed to be more distasteful than their own exploits, but it wasn’t his place to judge.
“Tell me about what happened today,” Steorra said.
Errol did, leaving nothing out, including his observations, what he had found, and Captain Kasen’s objections.
“Your supervisor is right,” Steorra said.
“Oh.” The weight of the day pressed against Errol’s shoulders. He had hoped she might feel differently.
“And he is wrong,” she added more firmly.
The smallest ray of hope lit the darkness of his soul.
“It is true the king might retaliate against you for bringing ill tidings, though more likely that would be Queen Anwynn’s typical behavior than his. Father is cool and calculating. He can wait a hundred years to spite an enemy. The queen is hot-headed and wants immediate action. She is the one you must watch out for.” She frowned. “As for causing my family shame, it’s true, it will. If it is publicly known that Quenylda has murdered Prince Elric-Atherius’ only living heir, that is a crime. Unfortunately, his heir was also Witc
hkin. Or his error is Witchkin, as the court often says.”
Errol thought he understood and saw the injustice. “It isn’t a crime for a Fae to kill a Witchkin, only for a Witchkin or Morty to kill a Fae.” It was a fact he often forgot about, as he was able to pass as a pure-blooded Fae. His silver hair brought with it privilege that he took for granted.
It hardly seemed fair that this was the way their realm worked.
“Indeed. That is the law.” She leaned against the armrest of her chair. “But it is also the law that Prince Elric-Atherius may demand restitution for the death of his child, whether she is half-breed or not, as a child is considered the property of a parent, and therefore, damages done to his property are entitled to be recompensed.”
“Oh, I see.” This sounded less like justice and more like politics.
She ran a hand through her long silver hair. “If you should bring this matter into the light, even if it is only to the king himself rather than let it be known publicly, you must understand the risk this is to your own kin.”
“My kin?” Errol thought of Alma.
“Queen Anwynn didn’t raise her children to be docile or forgiving. Quenylda is only a product of her upbringing. If it isn’t the queen who wants to shoot the messenger, it will be Quenylda. And if there is one thing I have learned from the Silver Court, they aim their blows where it will hurt worst.” Her eyes were sad. “Like at Beverly.”
Errol had considered the punishment this might cost him. He hadn’t considered what it might cost his sister. He didn’t want her getting punished for his choices. “Have I made a mistake? I have a sister they might hurt.”
“That’s why you can’t be the one to tell the king. I will have to be the one. I am family.” She stood. “And you mustn’t tell my brother. There’s no telling how he will react. Elric-Atherius will already be mourning the loss of his child. Learning of this betrayal so soon afterward will hurt him when he is already at his lowest.”