Chapter 16
Sixteen
I spend the rest of the day pacing my chamber, stewing over my encounter with Alaric.
He was as irritating and condescending and secretive as ever, and he obviously knows more than he’s letting on.
Part of me wants to storm through the palace and track him down.
If I refuse to let him catch his breath or give him time to spin more lies, he just might break and finally tell the truth.
Unless he is telling the truth, the other part of me whispers. Unless he’s broken already
Rowenna scoffs. Does he look broken to you?
Not physically, but there was something undeniably vulnerable in the way he stumbled back. A familiar heaviness, hidden in the depths of his silvery eyes.
It isn’t until I stop pacing and stand in front of the floor-length mirror, that I realize what it is. Alaric wears the same haunted expression I see every time I look at my reflection. A face carved out by grief and guilt, not malice.
You’re better than this, Indira, Rowenna cuts in. Don’t let sultry eyes cloud your judgment.
But Alaric’s smoldering stare isn’t what’s causing me to second-guess myself. It’s everything else. The things I saw when he finally stopped acting.
For the first time, I allow myself to consider that he really might be innocent.
If he didn’t kill Rowenna, though, who did?
I resume pacing, even faster than before.
King Soren is the most obvious choice, but I’m certain he would have proudly claimed Rowenna’s murder when they returned her body to Tashir—treaty be damned.
It would have been the perfect way to intimidate Father even further.
To punish him for withholding the truth about my abilities.
Soren would be holding it over my head now too—using my sister’s death as a warning, a promise of what’s to come if I refuse to cooperate and grow bagrava.
That leaves only my erratic maid, who’s too timid to come within ten paces of me, or one of the vapid courtiers from the queen’s salon.
I eye the stack of frilly calling cards on my nightstand.
Perhaps they’re more threat than invitation.
Maybe Elodie and the others aren’t as silly and shallow as they seem.
I could attend their luncheons and soirees and try to charm my way into their confidences. Except that’s what Rowenna did, and if she wasn’t shrewd enough to navigate that world without being killed, I don’t have a prayer. I’ll be dead before the week is out.
Which is why I already pointed you in the direction of someone who can help, Rowenna says with a dramatic sigh.
“No one in this seeds-forsaken kingdom is helpful,” I grumble. But even as I say it, I think of the courtier in the blue-tasseled hat.
Garitt Von Nevus.
Elodie clearly doesn’t care for him, but how much of that is warranted, and how much is the opinion of her mother—another advisor who’s also vying for power?
Rowenna must have trusted him to some degree—well enough to share her memories with him and realize he could serve a purpose.
And he was useful in the queen’s salon: helping me pretend to pray and relaying information about my sister that was actually true.
I pause and peer around my twilit room. In the waning light, it’s impossible to tell if danger lurks in the inky corners, or if it’s just the light, shifting as the sun sets behind the snowcapped peaks.
Just as it’s impossible to know if Garitt Von Nevus is the answer to my questions or if I’m falling into the same trap that killed my sister.
“If this is what I’m meant to do, send me a sign,” I whisper to Rowenna. “Knock over a candlestick. Or chase me with a ghostly draft,” I add with a somber chuckle.
At that precise moment, someone raps on my chamber door,
The hairs on my arms prickle, and I trip over my feet as I race for the door. “Ro?” I whisper. “Is it really you?”
But of course, it isn’t.
“It’s Elodie,” the courtier says through the door. She laughs uncomfortably, like she’s been standing there, listening to my one-sided conversation with my dead sister. “I came to collect you for the stone-throwing contests, as promised.”
I inwardly groan, praying she’ll leave if I ignore her.
But she clears her throat and pounds again.
“Don’t make me knock down this door, Indira!
” Elodie punctuates her threat with a lighthearted chuckle, but suddenly, nothing about her appearance feels funny—or happenstance.
How is her timing so impeccable? How is she always there, waiting for me, at the perfect moment?
I initially chalked her hovering up to boredom. Or desperation for friendship. Or even the universe mocking me. The one person who’s always readily available doesn’t have a scrap of useful information about Rowenna. But the more I think about it, the more her “friendship” borders on obsession.
Rowenna wouldn’t have liked being smothered like this, and she was far less patient than me. What if she snapped and said something to offend Elodie—who turned out to be far more dangerous than she appeared?
I wrench the door open, and there she is with her batting eyelashes and glittering skirts. The picture of innocence. But I’m not buying her little act. Not anymore. No one on this mountain is beyond suspicion.
“Are you ready to go?” she chirps.
I shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t join you for the contests.”
“Why not?” Elodie’s smile falters, and her voice actually wobbles—like I’ve broken her heart. It makes me want to scream, because I can’t for the life of me tell if its genuine, and if I can’t see through someone as seemingly simple as Elodie, what hope do I have of ever catching Ro’s killer?
“I have other business to attend to,” I say as I brush past her.
Despite my rudeness, Elodie latches onto my sleeve like a burr and trails me down the hall. “What business? With whom?”
“I need to speak with Councilor Garitt Von Nevus. Do you know where his rooms are?”
Elodie stops abruptly. Her surprisingly strong grip on my elbow stops me too. “What do you want with him? I told you—”
“If you don’t know the way, I can find someone who does,” I interrupt. “I just assumed you’d be able to point me in the right direction, but if it’s beyond you…”
“Of course I know the way to Von Nevus’s rooms.” Elodie resumes leading me through the labyrinthine halls. “You don’t need anyone but me,” she adds, quiet but firm. Possessive almost. Or am I imagining it?
A few minutes later, we stop outside an ornate mahogany door. “Here we are.” Elodie motions with a flourish. “What business do you have with Von Nevus? Shall I accompany you inside to ensure he doesn’t give you trouble? Perhaps you don’t remember, but my mother—”
I cut her off with a shake of my head. “I need to do this on my own.”
“Very well,” she says, but her grip on me reflexively tightens, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell if her concern is valid or if she’s just another person trying to manipulate me. She could be even more dangerous than Von Nevus.
I glance between Elodie and the door, mentally reviewing everything I know. Rowenna wouldn’t lead me to Von Nevus if he were dangerous. But she also wouldn’t have tolerated Elodie’s clingy, irritating presence without reason.
Which leaves only one option.
I must play both sides—as I’m sure Rowenna did.
I gratefully pat Elodie’s hand. “Thank you for your concern—and help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
How about I find you at the stone-throwing contests as soon as I’m finished here?
It shouldn’t take long.” Then I offer a conspiratorial grin that could be construed as a promise to tell her everything later.
That does the trick.
Elodie’s painted lips break into a wide smile, and she sets me free, promising to save me a seat near the front of the courts before flouncing away.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I roll my shoulders back and pound my fist against Von Nevus’s door.
“Coming!” calls a low voice within. It’s deeper and huskier than I remember, and for some reason, it makes my skin crawl. What if I made the wrong decision? Maybe I should have listened to Elodie. Or at least planned what to say.
The door creaks open, and Councilor Garitt Von Nevus is there in all of his auburn-haired, blue-robed glory.
The velvet fabric perfectly complements his gleaming copper skin, and the way his hair curls around the bottom of the tasseled cap makes him look boyish and innocent.
His eyes, though, are wise and wary, calculated in the way of someone far older.
“Little Rowenna,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “To what do I owe this honor?” His words and smile are perfectly pleasant, but the crawling sensation intensifies as he looks me up and down with appreciation.
I touch the clover on my wrist and raise my chin to meet his brazen stare. “Why did you help me yesterday in the queen’s salon?”
“Are we not even going to pretend to bother with pleasantries?” he asks with wounded amusement.
“I see no reason to.”
His laughter is soft, his smile wistful. “Gods of the mountain, you’re exactly like her.”
I cross my arms and ignore this comment. Garitt Von Nevus couldn’t possibly know if I’m exactly like Rowenna because he didn’t actually know her; no one on this mountain did. Lately, I’m wondering if I knew her completely.
“You even get that same little crinkle between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed.” He points excitedly.
My fingers involuntarily drift toward my forehead. How does a councilor of King Soren know something so personal and intimate about my sister?
Garitt’s smile widens.
I drop my hand with a scowl. “I’m not leaving until you answer my questions. Why did you help me? How did you know Rowenna?”
“You’re demanding like her too,” he says with fond exasperation. Then he glances down the hall in either direction and says quietly, “I’ll happily explain—in here.” He waves me into his chambers.