Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(85)
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.