“Found who?” asked Arden.
I turned. Somehow, I didn’t think Lowri was going to stab me for turning toward my queen. “Your Highness,” I said, dropping to one knee. I can be irreverent and resistant to many of the finer points of pureblood etiquette, but some forms can’t be ignored. Reporting the death of a noble is among them. “When the Root and Branch were young, when the Rose still grew unplucked upon the tree; when all our lands were new and green and we danced without care, then, we were immortal. Then, we lived forever.”
I hadn’t said those words in years—not since I’d told the false Queen of the Mists that Evening Winterrose was dead. My head was bowed. I couldn’t see the look on Arden’s face. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to. “We left those lands for the world where time dwells, dancing, that we might see the passage of the sun and the growing of the world. Here we may die, and here we can fall, and here His Highness Antonio Robinson, King of the demesne of Angels, has stopped his dancing.”
He’d stopped his dancing so completely that his body was on the floor not three feet away, motionless, waiting for the night-haunts to come and claim him. As I lifted my head, it was difficult to focus on Arden, and not on the dead body.
She had come alone. That made sense. High King Aethlin and High Queen Maida were probably doing their best to keep the rest of the conclave from getting angry over the apparent disrespect of the missing attendees. Me being late was only to be expected. A king not showing up when he was supposed to? That was the sort of thing that could spark a coup.
She had also changed her dress, swapping it for a cream sheath trimmed in iridescent white-and-silver feathers. She looked more like someone getting ready to present at the Oscars than a queen in charge of a large conclave, but maybe that was part of the point. This was her Kingdom, but as long as Aethlin and Maida were here, she wasn’t the heavy hand of authority. She could afford to look a little softer, and allow people to think of her as one of the good guys, rather than one of the ones they should be afraid of.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
Belatedly, I realized she might never have heard the traditional form for announcing the death of a pureblood noble. “I’m saying King Antonio Robinson has been murdered.” I held up the fragment of Merry Dancer I was still holding. “I found this on the floor. They broke when they fell, and they fell when he was killed.” A Candela’s Merry Dancers were born alongside them, and lived as long as they did.
Her eyes went to the shell, and then darted toward the shadows under the table. She had to see the way the shadows pooled, gathering around the body. That didn’t mean she had to admit it. Her gaze shifted back to me.
“Who did this?”
At least she wasn’t making accusations. That was a nice change. “I don’t know,” I said. “But the night-haunts haven’t arrived. There’s still time to examine the body, if we can keep this room sealed for long enough for me to do it. Send in the Luidaeg, if you’re worried people will say I killed him and am trying to get official dispensation to cover it up.”
Arden blinked. “Why the Luidaeg?”
“Because she’s Firstborn, which means Oberon’s Law doesn’t apply to her unless she kills another of the Firstborn,” I said. Oberon might not have meant for his Law to be interpreted that way, but since none of us had the magical strength to challenge one of the First, his intentions on the point didn’t really matter. They could kill with impunity, and sometimes did. Even the Luidaeg was a killer under the right circumstances, if the stories were to be believed. And the stories usually were. “She could have broken King Antonio’s neck in the middle of the conclave, and no one would have been able to do a damn thing about it. That means she probably didn’t do it, and has nothing to hide. She’s the only person here that I know for sure didn’t do it, aside from me, Quentin, Karen, Raj, and Tybalt. And she can’t lie—physically can’t—which means no one can say she’s lying to cover up my part in the murder.”
“How do you know they didn’t do it?”
“They were with me. Tybalt is the one who arranged the meal on the balcony.”
“It could have been a means of misdirecting your attention,” said Lowri. “Every killer needs an alibi.”
I turned to frown at her. “Tybalt is a cat and sometimes he’s a jerk, but he’s also a king. He wouldn’t commit a murder at a conclave. Not when it could hurt his people.”
As if the repeated mentions of his name had summoned him, Tybalt stepped out of the shadows in the nearest corner of the room, nostrils flaring as he scented blood. Finally, his gaze settled on me. “I can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I?” he asked wearily.
“What are you doing here?” I countered.
“The nobles are growing restless,” he said. “Queen Windermere left to find their missing colleague, and I have been dispatched to find Queen Windermere. I would take offense, had I not so dearly wished to escape that room. Raj wished to escape as well; I have no doubt he’s halfway home by now. And I find you standing over a dead body. Some things, it seems, are incapable of changing.” He finally allowed himself to look directly at the shape under the table, and wrinkled his nose. “King Robinson. How predictable. If anyone was going to get themselves murdered to guarantee they would remain the center of attention, it would be him.”
“You don’t sound upset,” said Arden. For the first time, I heard the quaver in her voice, and realized she wasn’t calm, no matter how she might seem: she was frozen, gripped by the sort of shock I hadn’t been able to feel for years.
“Oh, oak and ash,” I said. “Is this your first dead body?”
To my surprise, Arden laughed. It was a low, bitter sound, viscous and cloying. “No,” she said. “That was my mother, when I found her with her throat slit in this very knowe. But it’s my first in over a century, and it’s a goddamn King dead under my fucking roof, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little on edge!”
“My apologies, Your Highness,” said Tybalt, moving to stand next to me. He wasn’t as close as he normally was—he was still holding himself that little bit apart, on ceremony, reminding the world of his dignity—but he was there, close enough for me to smell the faint pennyroyal warmth of his magic. That helped more than I could say. “When one spends as much time in October’s company as I have, one grows more accustomed to the dead than is perhaps ideal. I’m sorry I can’t be distressed over the death of a petty man who invited assassination with his every act and word. I wish I could. It would make the pleas of my innocence easier to accept.”
“This is awful.” Arden shoved her hair back from her forehead, dislodging several feathers. On cue, pixies appeared from somewhere in the folds of her skirt and began restyling her hair, chiming angrily. Arden ignored them. “How can he be dead? He was under the hospitality of my house, for Titania’s sake!”
Her switching between mortal and fae profanity was starting to become jarring. “We can fix this,” I said. “We can find out who killed him. We can keep this from getting any worse than it’s already going to be. Just get me the Luidaeg.”
“Why, so you can cover up another murder?” The voice was unfamiliar. I turned. There, in the doorway of the room, stood Kabos and Verona, the King and Queen of Highmountain. Kabos looked furious. Verona looked like she was about to be sick.
Kabos left his wife behind as he advanced on me, expression filled with surprising anger. I resisted the urge to fall back, away from the accusation in his eyes. Mortals often have trouble standing up to purebloods. Old survival instincts and the memory of a time when a human fighting with the fae always ended badly keep humanity from crossing certain lines. The more fae I’ve become, the easier it’s become for me to stand my ground. Still, a part of me knew that I should be terrified. The distance between me and Tybalt seemed suddenly very great.