Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(105)

Rune said, “This is why you have so few friends, dipshit.”

Niniane clapped her other hand over her mouth. Don’t laugh. After a moment she managed to say, “Thank you for letting me know. . . .” She lifted her fingers from her eyes to squint at Tiago.

That one is Bruin, Tiago told her.

“Thank you, Bruin. Aryal and Rune may enter.”

“Yes, your highness,” said the soldier.

She muttered, “Although if they don’t start pretending to have some manners I’m going to kick them out again.”

Tiago put his hands on his hips. “You’ll have to get in line, faerie.”

She sat up as the sentinels stepped into the tent. Her exasperation faded as she got a good look at them. They were streaked with mud and dirt, and both looked tired. Aryal’s gaze fell on her plate. The harpy’s expression turned hopeful and she started forward. “There’s food?”

Tiago smacked Aryal in the back of the head. It didn’t look like a gentle blow. “Touch her plate and die.”

“Ow!” Aryal glared at him and rubbed the back of her head.

“There’s still plenty in the cooler,” Niniane told them.

Rune had already gone to investigate. He bit half the meat off a chicken leg in one bite and chewed as he stretched his neck first one way then the other. “We’ve done all we can,” he said around his mouthful. “Durin and one of Kellen’s attendants have treated Arethusa’s body with herbs and wrapped it, so it’s ready to be transported to Adriyel for a proper burial.”

Wyr tended to prefer cremation, so when Rune mentioned a “proper” burial, which was more of a Dark Fae concept, it was clear he was speaking to the two sets of ears on the other side of the tent walls. Tiago shook his head and strode outside. Niniane, Rune and Aryal fell silent. They listened as he told the two guards, “We have too many guards and not enough off-rotation. I’ll send for the next pair when we need them. For now, go get some shut-eye.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tiago reappeared. He scooped up Niniane, blanket and all, and settled in a chair again with her in his lap. Rune carried the cooler to the second chair, and Aryal sprawled on the floor beside him. The two sentinels divided the cooler’s contents between them.

Niniane rested her forehead in the crook of Tiago’s neck and let her eyes drift half closed. Tiago told the other two, “Spill it.”

Aryal licked sugar from a turnover off of her fingers. “Inconclusive. We’re Wyr on Dark Fae land. We can only request others’ cooperation; we can’t command it. We could only take things so far when we questioned people.”

The growl started so low in Tiago’s chest, Niniane was probably the only one who heard it. She put her flattened hand against his heavy pectoral, stroking, and he quieted.

Rune said, “Arethusa’s body has a wound behind one ear, caused by a blow made with some kind of blunt object, but her death looks consistent with drowning. Theoretically she could have slipped, hit her head and drowned, but it’s clear by how everyone is acting that nobody believes her death was an accident. The problem is, there’s simply no proof. Whoever killed her knew just what to do. They watched and waited until most of the encampment was asleep or in their tents. They had to have waded in the water because there’s no definitive scent in the immediate area.”

“Don’t misunderstand, there are plenty of scents and plenty of tracks,” Aryal muttered. “We scoured every inch of the riverbank, and they’re all over the goddamn place. And almost everybody has something wet or damp in their possession. The whole camp has been down to the river at some point, to either wash or haul water.”

Rune opened the container of potato salad. He took the fork Niniane had left on her abandoned plate and began shoveling food into his mouth. He said, “I think the killer did the simplest thing possible and bashed her over the head with a rock, threw the murder weapon into the water and let the river take care of the rest. Maybe it was someone Arethusa trusted, or at least someone she discounted as a threat, or maybe it was someone capable of sneaking up behind her and catching her by surprise. It had to be one or the other. Arethusa wouldn’t have turned her back to just anybody.”

The thought of such quiet, calculating malice made Niniane shudder. Tiago cupped her cheek. His fingers curled around the back of her neck, underneath her hair, and he stroked her face with his thumb. He nodded to the manila envelope on the floor and told Aryal and Rune, “Look at what Arethusa left for me, in care of one of her men.”

Aryal pulled out the checkbook and papers. The harpy held them up so she and Rune could both stare at them. Rune murmured, “That’s motive right there, baby.”

“Here’s how I piece it together,” Tiago said. “Someone works on Geril and gets him to try to kill Niniane. That someone also has access to Urien’s mansion, finds this bogus company in his files and decides to use it. If Geril succeeds, he gets paid. If fallout from Niniane’s death causes an investigation that uncovers the payment, the Wyr get blamed. Only Arethusa talked to us, so she didn’t stop digging when she was supposed to, and she found this file. She kept quiet because she knew one of the Dark Fae had done it, but she wasn’t sure who.”

“She wouldn’t have had the authority to dig through Aubrey’s or Kellen’s belongings, not without creating a big stink,” Niniane said. “We would have heard if that had happened.”