Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(64)

“They are not members of your court, my queen. I would have to check the records to determine if they are independents in your territory.”

The queen flicked her wrist, and I couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging his words, brushing them aside, or if it was just a twitch. She seemed more than a little twitchy.

I chewed at my cheek, weighing my words before I spoke. Finally I let out a breath I’d barely been aware I’d been holding before saying, “Falin’s assistance would be useful to me on this case.” After all, he had access to a lot of information I didn’t, and he could cut some red tape for me when it came to interviewing potential victims. Well, the dead ones at least.

“Oh, you would love taking my knight away from me, wouldn’t you, planeweaver?”

“No, I—” I floundered and glanced toward Falin, hoping he could offer me some guidance before I put my foot so far in my mouth the queen decided it needed to be cut off. Along with my tongue. And maybe my head.

I swallowed and cleared my throat.

Falin stared back at me for a moment, then, slowly, he lifted one hand to his side, pressing his ribs ever so slowly. What the hell did that mean? His hand moved to the nasty-looking gash on his face next.

Oh. I could guess his shirt hid a wound on his side as well. I turned back toward the queen.

“Your majesty, if he is to continue to win duels, he needs time to heal. Wouldn’t he be best utilized investigating the alchemist while he recovers?”

She lifted one dark eyebrow, studying me. Then a smile crawled across her face, making her red lips spread wide. “Yes, a tool must be used to keep its edge. But duels can only be postponed so long.” She turned to Falin. “You have forty-eight hours, Knight. Then you must return to my side. I expect you to return with this menace’s head.” She turned, her gown swishing and flinging melted drops of water. “You’re both dismissed.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I glanced at Falin, and then turned and hurried out of the room.





Chapter 20





“The queen seemed . . . different,” I said as Falin rummaged through the first-aid kit in his glove box.

He grunted, the sound noncommittal, before pressing a large gauze pad enchanted with a healing spell against the vicious-looking gash across his ribs. I winced. The first-aid kit seemed painfully inadequate for how hurt he appeared to be, and while I could attest to the fact he healed faster than normal, it still seemed as if he should be getting medical help. But I couldn’t make him see a healer or doctor, so I didn’t bother arguing.

“She mentioned she’d been turned on by her own court. Betrayed. I’m assuming she didn’t mean the alchemist. Blayne?” I asked, guessing.

Now it was Falin’s turn to wince, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the wound he was cleaning.

“Dead,” he finally said, shutting the first-aid kit.

I was not expecting that response. “A duel? He challenged the queen for her throne?”

Falin sighed. “He did not intend to. But the queen is, as you said, not herself. By the time she’d twisted everything, he had little choice but to challenge her.”

“And he lost.” I wondered if he’d been the one to deliver the worst of Falin’s wounds. “I don’t suppose he was the alchemist by any chance?”

“No.” Falin closed the glove box and slid stiffly into the driver’s seat. “He did not die in the dueling ring, but after his defeat was treated to the queen’s hospitality in Rath. He knew nothing of the alchemist.”

I shivered. Rath was the name of the queen’s dungeons. I doubted Blayne had a pleasant death. Or afterlife. Whatever she’d done to him, if his body was still in Faerie, his soul was trapped.

Falin stared straight ahead as he drove, his lips pressed into a tight line and the muscle over his jaw bulging.

“You liked him?” And he’d had to duel him, and whether he struck the final blow or not, he likely now wore the stain of Blayne’s blood on his hands.

Falin nodded. “I respected him. But I think when the queen considers her actions later, she will regret them. He’d been with her a long time.” He paused. “He was also Ryese’s father.”

Well, that explained why Ryese hadn’t been his normal, leering self during my visit. The queen had tortured her own brother-in-law to death? Of course, as marriages expired among fae, maybe he wasn’t her in-law anymore, but still. That was harsh. And very scary.

If Ryese and his father were both on the queen’s council, was his mother as well? “Is Maeve the queen’s sister?”

“No. Maeve was the consort of the last Winter King.”

I twisted in the seat and stared at him. “You mean Maeve was queen until the current Winter Queen challenged and killed the king?”

Falin shook his head. “She was never powerful enough to be queen. She was the king’s wife at the time of his fall, and from the whispers I’ve heard, she’d been close to losing that position to our queen as well, even if the throne hadn’t been usurped.”

So the Winter Queen had challenged and killed her own lover? Somehow that didn’t shock me. “And the queen keeps Maeve on her council? Why? Hell, for that matter, why did Maeve stay in the winter court?”