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  “We have only your word for that fact.” She leaned forward against Falin’s arms, not exactly struggling, but moving toward me. “Maybe you are mortal enough to lie.”

  I wasn’t, but saying as much would prove nothing. Ever try to prove to someone you can’t lie? Yeah, it doesn’t work. Now proving you can is easy enough, you just have to claim the sky is orange or some nonsense, but proving you can’t lie takes years of truths. So, I didn’t bother attempting to prove my own truthfulness.

  “Rawhead was fae,” I said, ignoring the fact I was stating the obvious. “Even if human shades could lie—which they can’t—wouldn’t it stand to reason that fae shades couldn’t because fae can’t lie?”

  She didn’t even pause before retorting with, “Death breaks oaths. Perhaps fae can lie after death.”

  I sighed. A rational argument wasn’t going to work with an irrational person. The queen didn’t want to believe Ryese could be behind the plot against her. So she wouldn’t believe it.

  Falin said something in a lyrical language I didn’t know. The language of the fae was beautiful and terrible all at once. I couldn’t understand the words he said, but I could feel the power in them. The words slid around my senses as smooth as silk—but with a cutting edge.

  The queen sagged in Falin’s arms. She released a long breath that sounded wet with tears she hadn’t shed. I shot a questioning glance at Falin, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was whispering, the words that same language, but they had lost their edge, and now simply sounded gentle, comforting.

  “Release me, Knight. Release me,” the queen said, her voice level, calm.

  Falin had no choice, it was a direct command. Lyell moved to my side. His weapon had vanished, and his posture seemed relaxed, but his eyes betrayed his worry. I wasn’t sure if he was showing me support—or just making himself at hand if the queen instructed I be apprehended.

  I tensed, but the queen remained still as Falin dropped his arms and backed away. She took several deep breaths before straightening. When she looked up, she appeared more like the distant, frosty queen I’d met during my first visits to Faerie. Oh, she was still disheveled, her skin still sickly and pulled too tight as if from a prolonged illness, but the fevered madness in her eyes had dimmed, her icy gaze cold and calculating once more. She nodded to Falin before scrutinizing both me and the sheet-covered corpse.

  “My nephew is spoiled and lazy, but he isn’t without ambition,” she finally said. “I will carefully consider what has been revealed here, but I will not move forward against my own blood without more substantial proof. You are all forbidden to speak of this until the matter has been resolved.” She met the eyes of everyone there—which was difficult, as Maeve had drawn even farther from us and seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

  I frowned. Not speaking of it would make further investigation difficult. I was running out of time. Even after consuming the energy of Rawhead’s ghost, the short ritual to speak to the shade had taken a lot out of me. I needed my tie to Faerie cemented.

  Which meant I needed the queen to accept that I’d completed my task of revealing the alchemist sooner rather than later.

  “Your majesty, do you dine with your nephew often?” I asked. After all, seven vials of Glitter couldn’t be all Ryese had concocted. Creating a panic among the humans helped damage her credibility and put pressure on her, but what if Ryese had made damn sure she’d break down under that pressure? If a full dose of Glitter caused humans to manifest their fear, what would prolonged small doses of the drug do to a fae? Paranoia, perhaps? A loss of control of the magics governing the court?

  The queen bit her full lips, making them disappear into an uncertain line. “I am, perhaps, less than my normal self.”

  She glanced down at hands that shook slightly. She flexed her fingers, staring at them as if not completely sure they belonged to her. Then the hilt of a sword appeared in her hand.

  “Come. I will question my nephew.”

  Chapter 28

  Based on the bargain I’d struck with the queen, all I had to do was identify the alchemist. She was then bound by our agreement to grant me my year and a day as an independent fae.

  But only if she accepted my findings.

  She stalked through the parking garage, a sword that had to be half as long as she was tall, clutched in her hand. I wasn’t sure if it was a purely glamour sword, or an actual magical sword she’d summoned, but it was an intimidating sight. How does one politely broach the subject of completed bargains with a more than slightly mad queen carrying a sword? You know, without getting skewered.

  To be fair though, whatever spell Falin had chanted, she was significantly less crazed than she had been. But it was still a very big sword.

  “Your majesty,” I started, several steps behind her. Falin was farther back still—he’d had to stop to grab the body after she’d stormed off. Leaving decapitated corpses in parking garages was tacky. Maeve and Lyell had both trailed even farther behind. I got the feeling her council was also trying very hard not to end up on the pointy end of the queen’s sword. “About my independent status . . .”

  “If we confirm your information, I will grant you your time,” she said without slowing her pace.

  I didn’t think whining that I really needed it now would gain me anything, so I held my tongue. But I also didn’t want to go to Faerie. Whether the queen found confirmation of Ryese’s involvement in the plot against her or proved Rawhead was somehow mistaken—it could happen if his memories had been altered or if he’d only thought he was dealing with Ryese—more heads were likely to roll. And the Winter Queen seemed like the type to kill the messenger.

  In this case, that would be me.

  “You can send Falin to fetch me when you are ready,” I said, trying to sound helpful and not overly eager to get out of there.

  It didn’t work.

  The queen whirled around, the sword flashing in her hand. “Where do you think you’re going, planeweaver?” she asked, but didn’t give me time to respond before saying, “You’re weakening. And you’re injured. You will return to Faerie with me. A healer will see to your arm and monitor your condition until such time as our bargain is complete or you wish to forgo it and join my court.”

  I didn’t mention that her court was a rather miserable place to be currently. My face might not win any beauty pageants, but I was fond of its location above my neck and wished to keep it there. I’m not sure what expression I wore, but the queen’s lips thinned and she glanced over my shoulder at Falin.

  “Knight, ensure the planeweaver accompanies us back to court,” she said before turning and stalking onto the sidewalk.

  I grumbled under my breath, but the queen’s command didn’t surprise me. In fact, the part I hated the most about the whole thing was the stab of betrayal I felt at Falin’s “Yes, my queen.” He didn’t have a choice. I knew he didn’t. I knew he was her creature. And yet there it was. He’d broken my, admittedly fragile, trust on the night of the Equinox. I’d thought he couldn’t hurt me anymore, emotionally at least, but his simple acceptance of a command that was blatantly against my best interest felt like he’d gathered the broken shards and ground them into my chest.

  I stepped out of the fluorescents of the parking garage and into the near dusk on the street. Night approached earlier each day this time of the year, and the streetlights hadn’t quite caught up yet. Or maybe it wasn’t quite as dark out as it appeared to my bad eyes. I’d left my shields cracked, but only enough to make what had been vague outlines in the brightly lit garage into recognizable shapes. Out on the darkening streets, my natural vision failed me, leaving me with only the swirls of color from the Aetheric plane and decaying reflections from the land of the dead. It was enough to prevent me from running into anyone, but not enough to make out details.

  I felt vulnerable, unable to truly see the pedestrians on the street, to rec
ognize who might pose a threat—and I took a moment to feel sorry for myself that I’d reached a place in my life that I considered the fact any crowd might contain a threat—but nothing was wrong with my ears, and from the gasps and whispers I could hear, no one was paying attention to me. No, everything I heard pointed to all eyes being on the disheveled woman striding down the sidewalk with a giant sword. Which was probably for the best, as Falin was bringing up the rear with what looked a hell of a lot like a dead body in a tarp. Actually, that was exactly what he carried, so no big surprise. I hoped he had it glamoured because that was the kind of thing that would draw attention, and if we didn’t get off the street soon, the police.

  Thankfully, we weren’t far from the Eternal Bloom.

  I’d be able to see once we reached Faerie—for whatever reason, the magical damage my eyes had taken over the years vanished inside Faerie—but there was still more than a block to walk and then there was the Bloom itself. While the bar may hold a pocket of Faerie, I couldn’t see there much better than in the mortal realm.

  Opening my shields made the world around me pop into focus, even if it was a slightly different version of the world than everyone else on the street saw. There were more planes of existence than I had names for, and while my psyche seemed to naturally focus on the ones I intentionally interacted with on a regular basis, I occasionally caught sight of others that changed the street into an alien world of glittering crystal, or made the buildings bleed color where they’d absorbed strong emotions. I kept the bubble shield that reined in my psyche in place and tried to ignore the less normal aspects—if I focused too much on any one plane, I was more likely to accidentally touch it, and possibly draw it into mortal reality.

  We reached the steps of the Bloom without incident. One of the trolls worked the door tonight. I recognized his particular shade of blue skin and hulking size as a bouncer I’d run into several times before. He wasn’t the brightest.

  “Check iron and sign ledger.”

  “You’re blocking the door,” the queen snapped.

  The bewildered troll looked around, as if unsure of which door she meant. The queen made a harsh sound, somewhere between a curse and a growl. She lifted the sword, pressing it to the trolls jugular. His large eyebrows knit together, but he shuffled only one step sideways.

  “Sign ledger?” he asked again.

  “I got it,” I said, slipping around his hulking form. The queen made an inarticulate sound, but she didn’t say anything else as I jotted my and Falin’s names in the ledger. I didn’t actually know the queen’s name, and she wasn’t likely concerned with arriving back in Nekros at this exact time, so I left her and her remaining council members off.

  Mollified, the troll shuffled his enormous girth aside until he revealed the door to the VIP area. “Check iron.”

  “No iron,” Falin assured him, and then gestured for me to follow the queen into the bar.

  I sighed. With the queen so distracted and Falin injured and carrying a body, I’d hoped they’d both enter the Bloom first, and for a moment I’d entertained the idea of turning around and going home. But Falin had been commanded to ensure I made it to Faerie, and apparently he hadn’t forgotten that fact.

  In the past few months I’d become something of a regular at the Bloom. In that time, I’d grown accustomed to the kind of crowd that frequented the bar—I could even recognize many regulars on sight. Typically, the patrons were primarily local independents who wanted to feel the homelike resonance of Faerie without actually going to Faerie proper and have to deal with court politics. Occasionally fae from other territories and courts visited since the bar served as neutral ground, but the regulars were locals. The winter court fae who passed through the bar were typically doing just that: passing through from mortal realm to winter court or vice versa. Few ever stopped to dine or gamble or dance or whatever other activities took place in the darkened corners of the bar. Except, apparently, today.

  I stopped just inside the door, staring around a room that had gone eerily silent and trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Fae filled every available seat, but not one held a familiar face. Considering most of the faces belonged to Sleagh Maith—the nobility of Faerie—that wasn’t surprising. There weren’t any noble independents in Nekros. Well, hopefully I’ll be the first.

  The queen had also stopped, taking in the room. Her grip around her sword tightened, and she glared at what had to be a large contingent of her subjects. For their part, almost every head turned downward, avoiding her gaze, as if they’d all suddenly become extremely fascinated by the food in front of them.

  I guess they decided the winter court had become inhospitable.

  Not that I thought they were all turning tail and planning to suddenly declare independent. At least, I didn’t think that was the case. No, more likely they were looking for a dry place to get out of the sleet that was plaguing their home. Still, it had to be a blow to the queen to see her subjects gathered in a small pocket of Faerie that normally was only a pale reflection of the true place. Most likely whatever pocket spaces surrounded the other doors to winter’s territory were also packed with court members tonight.

  For a moment I thought the queen was going to address her people. To offer reassurance that everything would be back to normal soon, or more likely, to order everyone back to their court regardless of its current condition. Then Maeve approached the queen’s side.

  “I would deal with this for you, if you would like, my queen.” Maeve curtsied as she spoke, her face turned down toward the floorboards.

  “Do so,” the queen snapped, and then, squaring her shoulders, stalked through the tables toward the amaranthine tree and door to her court.

  I didn’t start moving fast enough, and Falin gave me the softest shove to get me walking. I trudged forward, catching sidelong glances shot my way as I passed. But no one spoke. In fact, the silence held until I was more than partway around the tree, the world already sliding out of focus. Even then, the sounds of the quickly vanishing bar were subdued. Frightened.

  The queen waited just beyond the melting ice pillar that marked the door. The intricate carvings were gone now, replaced by a shiny, wet surface. The queen grimaced at the pillar, and then turned her face upward, into the falling sleet.

  The deluge slowed, and then stopped. I glanced up. Sleet still fell high above us—not the large and majestic snowflakes from before the queen’s . . . fall from health . . . but it stopped several feet above my head now, so at least we weren’t being pelted with the chilling rain anymore.

  Two ice-cloaked guards approached, looking cold and drenched, but they bowed to their queen, making no complaint.

  “My nephew, is he here?” the queen asked the first of the guards.

  “I believe so, your majesty.”

  “Good. Bring him to my throne room. We must speak.” She started past him, but then paused. “Oh, and take the planeweaver to a room where she can rest, and if there are any healers left who haven’t abandoned the court, send one to see to her arm. Knight, attend me.”

  And with that, she stormed off down the long corridor, leaving me in the care of the two waterlogged guards.

  Chapter 29

  I woke to sleet pelting my face.

  I jolted upright, disoriented with sleep, and blinked at the unfamiliar room. It was small, but ornately decorated with furniture carved from some sort of blue crystal that resembled ice—but only resembled, because the actual items of ice were dripping.

  The winter court.

  Memory washed over me, clearing away the last haze of sleep: Jenny’s stagnant pond; Rawhead’s death, the fight with his ghost, and his revelation that Ryese was the alchemist; and then the queen’s insistence that I recover here, in her court. More sleet fell from the ceiling, sticking to my hair and eyebrows and making a darkening wet spot on the light blanket pooling at my hips. Shivering, I shook the m
elting ice away, but it was quickly replaced. What happened? The queen had managed to stop the sleet from falling, even if she hadn’t been able to turn it back into decorative snow. Had she relapsed into the fevered madness?

  Pulling the blanket free of the bed, I tugged it around my shoulders and over my head like a cloak. I realized only after I’d bundled myself that I’d used my left arm without any twinge of pain. I held it out and flexed the fingers of my hand as I examined the flesh of my forearm. The healer the queen had sent had done a good job; there wasn’t even a scar left where Rawhead’s ghost had bit me. But I was tired, so very tired now that the initial adrenaline rush of waking to frozen rain was wearing off.

  How long had I slept?

  It could have been minutes or hours. One thing was for sure, I hadn’t acquired my tie to Faerie yet, and I was running out of time. I hope Rianna and Ms. B are okay. How long was it safe to wait for the queen to confront Ryese and decide our bargain was complete? And if I felt this bad, how much worse was it for my friends? As they were sworn to me—in the roundabout way of fae inheritance—self-preservation had apparently cut down the flow of life-sustaining magic to them before I’d even started feeling the effects. And I was definitely feeling it now—just the idea of crawling out of this bed was exhausting.

  I had to speak to the queen. One way or another, I had to establish my tie to Faerie. Now.

  Sliding out of bed, I stood and looked around. When the healer had left earlier, the doorway had vanished behind her. Now it was back, looking a little like a popsicle on a hot day, but it was a doorway. I stepped up to the edge of it, taking the blanket with me. Like all doors in Faerie, there was no telling what was on the other side before stepping through. I glanced back at the room, making sure I hadn’t left anything behind as I’d likely never find this room again. I’d slept fully dressed down to my boots—strange things happened in Faerie and I’d once fallen physically into a nightmare when I’d lost control of my planeweaving ability during sleep. I had no desire to spend the rest of the trip half naked or barefoot, so the decision had seemed prudent. Other than my purse, which I grabbed off the dresser, and the dagger strapped into my boot, I hadn’t brought anything else with me.