Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(35)

The scent of blackberry flowers and redwood bark teased my nostrils. I relaxed slightly. “We had dinner on the balcony at the end of the adjoining servant’s hall,” I said. “The kitchen staff should be able to confirm that we were fed out there. After we were finished, Sir Grianne of Shadowed Hills came to tell us the conclave was resuming. Since we were on the balcony, we had to come through here to get back to the gallery. Upon entering, I heard a strange noise, and went to investigate. That’s pretty much everything that happened. You found me right after I found him.”

“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.