by C. L. Polk
Robin opened the other locket, and a younger woman in a knee-length frock with the piping trim that had been stylish three years ago appeared. “This is my cousin Mahalia.”
“That’s your middle name,” Miles said.
“We were both named for my grandmother. She died in an asylum,” Robin said. “The examiners took her when I was seven.”
I had been right. I bowed my head to Mahalia’s ghost, but she lifted her haughty chin, her nostrils pinching in on an aggrieved sniff.
“Well. I had thought perhaps there was something interfering with magic. If the walls had copper behind them, for example,” Robin said. “But that’s not it.”
“Maybe you can only call on your own relatives?” Miles suggested.
Robin shook her head. “I conjured up Octavius Green, and he’s no relation. He told me where he’d hid his trove of pearls, and they were right where he said they were.” Half of Robin’s mouth quirked up and she went on. “After that he announced Jessamyn Brown of the Quickneedles was his secret daughter and that she was entitled to half the trove, and I left the clan house in an uproar. They’re probably still shouting over it.”
“So you should be able to call forth her spirit,” I said. “And you can’t?”
“That’s correct,” Robin said.
“Why would that be happening?” Miles twisted in his seat and pulled out a tobacco pouch. The sharp-cured scent of the fermented and flavored leaf blended with the smell of death and aldehyde, reminding me of its presence.
“If the spirit had passed over—”
“The ways to the Solace are sealed,” I said.
Miles did some prestidigitation and rolled a perfect, if filterless, cigarette. “Right. It can’t be that.”
Robin gave him the eye. “You were trying to quit.”
“I’m having a bad day,” Miles said, and handed her his first smoke. “Grace?”
I gagged just thinking about it. “I can’t smoke in this room.”
Miles jerked his head in the direction of a black-painted door. “Leads to a drive for the funeral wagons.”
“Thank all the Makers,” I said. “Can we please go outside?”
Miles handed me his second hand-roll. “In a minute. Another possibility remains.”
He looked up, and I knew he meant the crown of souls that shone in his aura. Robin saw it too, and her brow wrinkled. “Sevitii’s soul could have been bound, you mean? I thought that had to be consensual.”
“I don’t know if that’s true,” I said. “I saw Aldis bind Sir Percy’s soul at his execution.”
“Really,” Miles said. “So that’s where it came from.”
I nodded and blew out a sigh. “Can you hide a witchmark the way you hide your aura, Miss Thorpe?”
Robin put the cigarette between her lips. “I don’t know. There’s too much we don’t know about magic. But if I had to guess…”
Miles popped another perfectly rolled cigarette into his mouth, leading the way to the exit. He stopped next to a lever, and when he pulled it, the black door swung open without him having to touch it. He rolled through the door and onto a covered driveway that was mostly protected from the snowfall.
Our breaths puffed out in front of us. The wind caught Miles’s hair, tumbling it around his ears. I wrapped my arms around my ribs for warmth. Robin pulled out a gas lighter and flicked it out between lighting her own, then Miles’s, then mine.
Miles smoked like a soldier, with the one end pinched between his thumb and forefinger, the burning coal hidden by his palm. He sighed out a long stream of smoke, musing to himself. “So she can’t have gone into the Solace. She might have been bound against her will. What else?”
“I will look into it,” Robin said. “I have old diaries hidden at home. I can do some research and tell you more.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You don’t have to do this.”
Robin exhaled in a plume of smoke. “I’m always willing to help a friend.”
She meant Miles and not me, of course, but that didn’t matter. “I don’t know what you know about the victim.”
“I know she’s Laneeri—wait. Her star bangle. Where is it?”
“We searched the suite and couldn’t find it,” I said.
Robin nodded, as if she had expected it. “That might be significant.”
“How? Miles never explained.”
Miles rolled his neck, stretching the muscles. “Star bangles have hair inside them, cut on their fifth birthday, when a young Laneeri is named with their omen.”
I was still a little lost. “And the bangle will tell you Sevitii’s omen?”
“They’re kept secret,” Miles said. “But it’s the hair that’s important. You know how Father always ordered our hair and nails from cutting be burned, and cloths with our blood—”
“Every four weeks,” I said.
“It’s because they’re sympathetic links,” Miles said. “If you have the hair, you have the man. Or woman. Or kesi. If a magician had Sevitii’s star bangle, it wouldn’t matter if the door was locked and guarded.”
“I still think we need to interview all the staff charged with guarding Sevitii or keeping up the suite.”
“An excellent idea,” Miles said. “I’ll take notes for you.”
“I have to be on my way,” Robin said. “I have another engagement, and I’m going to be late. If you need me, Miles—”
“I’ll write.”
Robin bent to hug Miles around the shoulders. “You’ll see me soon,” she said, and then turned to regard me. “Chancellor Hensley.”
“Miss Thorpe.”
We nodded to each other, and then she returned to the mortuary, her ghostly kin following behind her.
* * *
The guard station wasn’t far from the mortuary, and a look at the duty roster revealed that one of the guards we had tapped to monitor Sevitii was on parade guard in the grand vestibule of the palace. He reported to us in an unused office in scarlet serge, brass buttons, and a spotless white cape, draped to accommodate the saber hanging from his hip.
“Corporal Sadler? Thank you for coming,” I said. “Please sit down.”
He planted himself in front of us but stared straight at a replica of the official portrait of Crown Prince Severin, the titular commander of the Queensguard, avoiding our gaze entirely. “Thank you, ma’am, but I should stand. How may I serve the Chancellor?”
“You were assigned to guard my suite and ensure that its occupant was secure, Corporal Sadler. I have the entry roster here, indicating that no one but maids, myself, and Miles ever entered the suite while you were in charge of its care.”
Corporal Sadler’s jaw clenched as he swallowed, but he kept staring down the opposite wall. “Yes, ma’am.”
Miles leaned an elbow on his wheelchair’s armrest and eyed me, just in case I hadn’t noticed.
“Is it correct?” I asked.
He hesitated before answering. “I wasn’t on all shifts, but yes, ma’am.”
“Did anyone ever stop to ask you why you were guarding the Chancellor’s suite?” Miles asked.
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied. “Pages, other guards. Plenty of people asked.”
“And what did you tell them?” I asked.
“That we had our orders, ma’am.” He kept his gaze on the wall, his posture even stiffer than before. “But we never told them about the prisoner.”
“Tell me about the prisoner,” I said. “Did she ever try to communicate with you?”
“She couldn’t speak Aelander, ma’am.”
“How did you know that?” Miles asked.
He glanced at Miles before answering. “Because she tried to convince us to take a message to the other Laneeri prisoners, sir. We said no.”
“But you weren’t the only guards with a shift,” Miles said. “If you had to guess, who would have been most likely to take her message?”
Corporal Sadler swallowed again. “She tried to give us gold, sir. Bracelet
s.”
“Were they engraved, or decorated in any way?”
His brow wrinkled. “They were engraved, ma’am. I don’t remember the pattern.”
“She wouldn’t have,” Miles said. “Not her star bangle.”
“I’m inclined to agree, but we need to check if any of the guards we were assigned had money problems,” I said to Miles, who was already uncapping his pen.
“Private Fuller, ma’am,” Corporal Sadler said. “He’s got a grandfather who gets lost in his memories. They’re waiting for a place at the care home, but it’s a long wait and home care is expensive.”
“That’s a hard place to be in,” Miles said. “Did anyone ever ask to see the prisoner? Someone you didn’t want to write down on the roster. Maybe trying to bring a message back to the prisoner?”
Corporal Sadler’s gaze darted off to the right. “No, sir.”
“What if this person was important?” I asked, and Sadler closed his eyes. His shoulders sank a fraction of an inch. Then he pressed his lips shut.
“You know why you’re not on that duty any more,” I said. “You were there yesterday when we brought her out.”
He opened his eyes, still staring at the wall. No. At the portrait of the Crown Prince. “I should return to my duties now, ma’am.”
“Corporal Sadler,” Miles said. “The Chancellor of Aeland is asking you a question.”
“Regulations only allow a relief break of five minutes—”
“If it was someone less powerful than me, you could rely on my protection,” I said. “You’d be able to tell me who wanted admittance to the Chancellor’s suite. So that leaves someone more powerful. Someone I can’t protect you from.”
“Ma’am—”
“The Queen came to see the prisoner. Or Crown Prince Severin did.”
“Ma’am,” Corporal Sadler said. “Please.”
Miles glanced at me. “Prince Severin.”
“You’re sure?”
Miles nodded. “Queen Constantina wouldn’t have come alone—she would have brought the Guard-General. And she wouldn’t have to demand secrecy.”
Corporal Sadler licked his lips. Fear gleamed on his face. He didn’t try to deny it, though.
“Thank you, Corporal. You may go.”
His hand trembled as he pushed down the door lever and let himself out. Miles and I sat in silence, listening to the cadence of his footsteps as he retreated.
“Why would Prince Severin want Sevitii dead?” Miles asked. “He was ready to give her what she wanted, wasn’t he?”
“He’d said as much.” I reached for the duty roster and scanned it. “And he was with the Queen when I saw her that day.”
“Was that an hour before my estimated time of death?”
I looked up from the roster. “Could it have been two? Corporal Sadler had reported in an hour before your estimate of Sevitii’s death.”
“The bathwater,” Miles said. “Severin said it was still hot.”
I closed my eyes and walked my memory back to searching the bathing chamber. “I never checked it for myself. But if he had killed her and then filled the tub with steaming hot water, and then went to turn off the dripping tap—”
“His fingerprints would be in the bathroom,” Miles said.
“We’re not really considering this, are we?” I asked. “We don’t really think—”
“He’s not the only suspect,” Miles said. “Just the first.”
Suspect. The Crown Prince, a suspect. I let out a shuddering breath. “He’s not a mage. He would have had to leave evidence of how he killed her so suddenly.”
“Sevitii could have been smothered with a rubber sack. He could have let her fall, then filled the bathtub to throw off time of death. It’s possible.”
“But why would he do it? What would he gain from it?”
“And how could we hold him accountable, even if he had?” Miles asked. “That’s the part that worries me most.”
“Sevitii tried to get a message to someone among the Laneeri,” I said. “She was no mage, but every one of those star priests were. What if the bracelet wasn’t a bribe? What if she gave her star bangle to someone in the delegation?”
Miles chewed on the idea and shook his head. “Maybe. They’re supposed to allow a loved one to determine if the bangle holder is alive or dead. If she had a lover or— Her father.”
“Niikanis,” I said. “What if she gave it to him, to assure him she was fine? We have to question him.”
“You don’t have time,” Miles said. “You have to go home and change, and then come back here for the ball.”
“Blast it. We don’t have time for this.” But my ball gown waited for me at home, and when I returned, Avia would be my guest.
I’d introduce her to Amaranthines—to Grand Duchess Aife herself—and perhaps we’d get a moment where we could share a drink and talk about something that wasn’t a scandal or a secret. Maybe I could make her laugh. Maybe I could have an evening, an hour, a minute where we could drop the press license and the Chancellor’s robes to be Avia and Grace, the burden of our surnames discarded.
“Grace,” Miles said. “Where’d you go?”
I shook my head. “I was thinking.”
“It must have been good. Anyway, let’s go. I promised Tristan I’d have a nap with him when he came back.”
“A nap.” I huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure it will be restful.”
“Eventually it will be,” Miles said. He gathered up our notes and the copy of the duty roster and led the way out of the guard office, humming to himself.
I walked with him to the ambassador’s wing, then went outside Government House to wait for William and George to bring the sleigh around. I would see Avia tonight. I wondered if she would show up wearing red.
THIRTEEN
Edge of Night, Falling
Edith controlled every minute I spent in Hensley House before the ball, according to her schedule of resting, last-minute beauty treatments, and a carefully portioned meal (enough to satisfy without overindulging). She could barely contain herself at the moment of triumph as I descended the golden oak stairs clad in a snow-white gown covered in sparkling crystal beads, my neck and ears draped in silver-mounted diamonds and pearls, a full-length snow-weasel cloak around my shoulders.
She’d outdone herself. Every detail was perfect. Silver dancing slippers peeked from beneath my glittering hem with every step. My nails were carefully shaped and lacquered white with silver carefully painted along the oval tips. I moved in a cloud of white orchid perfume. I let William hand me into the sled, the soft white fur cozy around my neck as we dashed under a starlit night to arrive at the palace.
I tucked my check tag into the pocket hidden in the lining of my thin white gloves and strode the violet running carpet to the largest ballroom in Mountrose Palace. Dancing music grew louder, the three-beat time beckoning. Would we dance, Avia and I, uncaring of the glances and speculation of titillated guests?
The entrance framed the scene as I walked in—whirling dancers cavorted before the Queen’s dais while the monarch played a strategy game with Elsine Pelfrey, the two of them intent on a battle only one of them would win. The landed mixed with the Hundred Families, and together they eyed the tall, fantastic company of the Amaranthine cohort, whose attire was like jewels against the restrained, near colorless elegance of their mortal hosts.
I thought of dances hosted by King’s Academy where all the girls hovered on one side of the room, so that trying to approach one was like accepting a dare. The only Amaranthines on the floor were Tristan, laughing softly as Miles taught him the basic step of a promenade, and Grand Duchess Aife, receiving the same lesson from Crown Prince Severin.
There were no clocks. I wore no watch. Time meant nothing at an Aelander ball—the musicians would play until after the Queen had retired, signaling to all that they were free to leave, and that was the only measure that mattered.
No. There was another, and that was th
e subtle collection of glances following me as I drifted through the crowd. Curious looks that cut away toward the same point in the room; slight, anticipatory smiles that couldn’t wait for the fireworks.
So, word had gotten around, had it? I stopped a server and plucked a wide, shallow-bowled glass of sparkling wine from her tray. The bubbles kissed my nose as I picked a location that would afford my onlookers the best view while I watched my brother and my friend dance.
The crowd fluttered at my back, and I scarcely counted three before Raymond, garbed in the sober black and white of evening dress, planted himself in front of me. He smiled—or at least, he tried.
“Grace,” he said. “I thought we understood the need to move quickly on selecting a new Cabinet.”
“Did we understand that?” I asked. “It’s best to do these things with the full consideration of everyone involved, in my opinion.”
Raymond scoffed, amused at a feeble effort to resist his influence. “This delay is foolish. I thought you wanted to lead us.”
I sipped excellent wine. “Your list was ridiculous, Ray. I know your father didn’t apply himself to training you to make politically astute decisions, but I thought you were wiser than those choices.”
“So you think your choices will warm you up to the others? Do you imagine that a mention in the Queen’s ear is all it takes to sway them?”
Didn’t he notice how interested the others were in this little exchange? I made him wait for my response as I held another fizzy mouthful of the Widow Vanier’s Deer Valley on my tongue, the high floral tones dancing with a dozen partners, the flavors shifting like the sparkling reflection of water at sunset.
I smiled at him when I finally answered. “I imagine no such thing, my dear. I considered your list, and some of your choices number among my recommendations—not the foolish ones, of course.”
“I see.” Raymond gave me a regretful look made of pasteboard and paint. “Well. I suppose we’ll simply declare no confidence and hold an election next week.”
I nearly laughed. “No one told you. All those friends, all those admirers, and not a single one of them said a word.”