Siofra had never seen a dead body before, and she didn’t want to see one now, but something drew her to the scene. How could someone murder that vibrant, beautiful nymph?
The dwarf and Lysander passed through the door, but Siofra looked back to the tree. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of her.” Then she slipped inside.
Lysander was already bending over the body, studying the ornate silver handle that stuck out of Daire’s chest. “Greum, were there runes on the knife?”
The dwarf slipped a sheet of paper from his trousers and offered it to Lysander. From what Siofra could discern, Greum didn’t seem happy about it, refusing to meet Lysander’s eyes and twisting his hands together.
Lysander growled then passed the sheet to Siofra. “And you think my father is not involved.”
Sidhe Gaoithe on one side and the hawk, throne, and broken crown on the other.
“Does Sidhe Gaoithe mean thrust of wind?” Siofra looked from Greum to Lysander. “And what do the symbols mean?” She could have sworn she saw them somewhere in their travels.
“It is the personal blade of the king himself,” Greum said in a subdued voice. “The runes are magicked to appear, but disappear afterwards.”
That’s where she’d seen the symbols—over the king’s throne.
“Just because someone stole his knife doesn’t mean he sent an assassin here to kill Daire. She’s the Keeper. Perhaps she saw someone or something transported through doors they should not have been using. Isn’t that her purpose?”
“And perhaps the king does not wish her to tell me what she knows of his meddling.” Lysander stood and faced her. “There are manipulations in both courts of which you know nothing. My father has long believed he should unite the courts. He has followers everywhere…zealots.”
“Any one of which could have killed the Keeper. Do you keep records or a manifest? How can you tell who travelled through the doors?”
“Magic.” With that, Lysander walked the room, hands out as if forcing everything in the room to speak to him.
Many times, Siofra noted wisps of blue light as certain patterns formed, but she didn’t understand what she saw. Greum, ever at Lysander’s side, was busy scribbling the moment the patters manifested.
Lysander saved Daire for last, holding his hands over her again and again as if testing the patterns. At last, he sighed. “Your words gave me hope, Siofra, but there are traces of only two people here. My father and one other. My father’s essence is imbued in the knife, so he might not have visited here, but the other person was most definitely present.”
“You can’t tell Unseelie from Seelie. This other person could be anyone. How many others were in the room?”
“Four. We will question each one to see what they noticed. Each person in the room when she died will have her life signature for a short time.”
“How long?” Siofra asked.
“Two days only.”
Greum had been outside when the murder occurred, but he knew each person that had entered from the village. If someone slipped in through a door and then exited, they would be much more difficult to track.
Greum pointed Lysander and Siofra to a cottage very near the tree. Siofra’s hand itched to caress the tree as she passed, but she refrained. “Just a little longer,” she told it.
A branch lowered and caressed her cheek, but at Lysander’s quick frown, she backed away.
“What? She’s lonely.”
“She needs a proper Keeper…unless you intend to live here all your days. The rest of your life. Forever.” His raised brow irritated her as much as his words.
Was he asking for more than the tree? For himself, perhaps? She now knew she was his intended, since the day she was born. The woman he’d waited to wed for almost two decades.
“No need to get snippy. I understood the first time.”
He held the door as they entered the cottage, but she almost ducked out when the inhabitants of the room rushed at them. There were snarls and grunts, raised voices, and threats.
Greum raised his hand and bellowed, jerking his head to glare at each participant. “If you wish to continue on your way, listen to the Steward. No one leaves until he receives a full accounting.”
Though his height was not that impressive, but taller than Lysander, his sheer mass dominated the others. Siofra certainly would never wish to meet him alone in a dark alleyway.
She stopped beside Lysander so she could observe the reaction of those in the room. Either the fey were heroic in their ability to control facial tics, or they just didn’t express emotion like humans. The use of glamours might also come into play. On the other hand, she felt fear, envy, loathing, perhaps hatred or strong dislike in the atmosphere. Someone was projecting a lot of emotion.
Lysander’s hand touched the small of her back, and her body sang. Calm yourself, Siofra. You and Lysander have yet to have that “talk.”
What if Lysander didn’t care for her in the manner she cared for him? It wasn’t acceptable that she would marry a man just because she was intended to. She had refused to do that for the ton, and she wouldn’t do it for the fey. Or the queen. The king didn’t want her, regardless. What mattered most was how Lysander felt about her. She knew how she felt.
He led her aside, his back to the room. “If you think of something to ask, don’t hesitate to speak up.”
“Why would they listen to me?”
“You are the queen’s—”
“They don’t know that. No one does. I’d rather not bandy it about.”
“Agreed.”
When they turned, four fey creatures stared at the both of them, along with Greum.
Lysander cleared his throat. “I realize that direct questions are frowned upon, but I need information. Do your best to overcome the compulsion to tell less than the truth or to give answers that circle the truth. The longer it takes for me to understand what happened here, the longer you will be detained.”
No one moved or indicated their agreement in any manner. Oh, the fey were different from her world.
As Siofra studied those present, there was only one she recognized. The bard. Was he a frequent visitor, or did he live nearby?
“We will begin with you.” Lysander pointed at the bard.
A wave of relief swept across the room, entwined with resentment. Perhaps someone wanted to go first so they could leave.
Lysander led Siofra to a side room and motioned the bard to follow.
“If only I had my journal,” Siofra mumbled as she settled in a plush yellow chair.
Lysander leaned over her and set the journal, from her desk at home, on the arm of the chair.
“And a pen.” She offered him her best smile.
A small side table materialized with inkwell and pen.
Siofra clapped her hands together, noting that she hadn’t remembered to wear gloves for some time. She didn’t miss them. Lysander’s ring winked up at her, silver with deep etchings and opals that shifted in color with the light. Pink, yellow, green, pearl. Did she like how complete it made her feel? She swallowed the purr of contentment that edged along her throat.
Lysander clicked his fingers, and a scroll floated beside him. He raised his eyes to the bard. “Relinquish your glamour and state your appellation and realm of occupation.”
One moment Siofra was looking at an elf with blond hair and pointed ears slightly taller than herself, wearing what she thought of as the blue-and-yellow-checkered court jester costume. The next, she saw a human man, dark-haired, thin as a reed, and rather small of stature and build.
She couldn’t help the soft, “Ah,” that tripped from her mouth.
“I am called Lìos Lothian, a dweller in all parts Seelie and occasionally beyond,” the bard said, adding a smile much like a snake-oil salesman.
Golden runes floated in the air then imprinted on the scroll.
“How did a human come to be in the land of Faerie?”
“Ah, the life of a changeling.”
“You are here often. You travel through the doors because…”
Lìos spread his arms wide. “I am the bard. I carry the tales of the mighty Sidhe.”
“Humans are not allowed in the Unseelie Court, on pain of death. Is that why you wear the glamour of an elf? My father is not so easily beguiled.”
“You wound me, Steward. I merely esteem to reflect a little of your glory.”
Siofra knew he was lying…about something. And those ridiculous truth, but not truth, games of the fey were helping him get away with it. He may want to look like an elf or even like Lysander, but he had an ulterior purpose. Unless he was ashamed to be a human in the land of Faerie. The fey would make his life miserable. Why had they brought him here and kept him?
“Where are you from…in the human world?” Siofra asked.
His eyes tightened ever so slightly. Still a touchy subject?
“Tara, Ireland. It is one of the strongest doorways to Faerie.”
Lysander nodded. “Tell me the order of events in the shop.”
“I arrived from a sojourn in the Summerlands. When I entered the shop, I saw Daire speaking with the high servant of the queen, about what, I couldn’t say. Their conversation was muffled. The gnome was fingering seeds or pods. A brownie was reading a book. There was a troll at the self-serve counter, weighing a bag of gold. Your deputy dwarf could be seen through the windows, snoozing against the bridge.” His tone at that point, wreaked of disdain for the dwarf. “The troll backed into a bin of fairy dust, upsetting it on the counter. The brownie jumped up to clean.” He sneered at Siofa. “That’s practically all their race is good for. Daire continued her conversation as if the shop could run itself, which I’m led to believe it practically can. I lost track after that. The door to Oversky opened, blocking my view of the other doors, but I never saw anyone enter. I heard a door close, probably the queen’s servant leaving. I never saw him again. And I was on my way to the Wildelands door when I heard the scream.”
“To where are you headed in Wildelands?” Lysander asked.
“The Republic Bazaar…if it matters.”
“You may go.”
Lìos stood, and his glamour persona returned. “As in, I may go to Wildelands?”
“No one will enter the shop or pass through the doors until the lady Daire has been transported to her people.” Lysander’s clipped tone indicated he was finished with Lìos.
The bard left the room, and Lysander sighed. “I don’t like him.”
“Because he’s human? Because he tried to take advantage of me?”
Lysander scowled at her, his brows forming a line across his forehead. “Because he disdains others as if he’s above them, or angry that he’s here instead of with humans. He clearly doesn’t respect Greum, who isn’t even fey and couldn’t possibly have stolen him from his home.” When she turned a quizzical gaze his way, he answered. “The Dwarves were here before the Sidhe.” Lysander sighed again. “And he always sounds like he’s lying.”
“You mean like all the fey? He’s certainly learned your ways. I was impressed by his ability to recite the movements of everyone in the room.”
“Exactly. Is it because he knew he’d need to account for himself or because he’s a bard and watches everyone for gossip anyway?”
“He is a puzzle. Who’s next?”
“I doubt we’ll get much from the brownie, if she was reading and then cleaning. They don’t particularly care what anyone else is doing. He was probably telling the truth about that.”
“Maybe, but Mrs. Sgot always knows everything about everything. She’s very observant.”
“Mrs. Sgot is without equal.”
When the brownie sat across from them, she studied the room, ran her finger across the hard wood floor, checked for dust on her finger. Completely ignoring them. Lysander got no response when he checked for a glamour.
“Why were you in the shop?” he asked.
“The smell of troll in the bed linens.”
Siofra and Lysander exchanged a glance.
“And you were reading?”
“A more efficient method to get it out!” Her tone indicated they should have known that.
“Did you see anyone approach Daire?”
“Everyone approached her. She’s the Keeper.”
Lysander’s eyes narrowed until creases formed at the corners. Siofra leaned forward. “The bard mentioned an elf in the shop who spoke with Daire for some time.”
“There were no elf in the shop. There were an elf glamour in the shop, but only the one.”
Lysander straightened, his eyes alight with interest. “Tell me which races entered or left while you were there.”
At that, she looked straight at him. “A dwarf…for a moment. Him, in there.” She pointed to the room where Greum watched the other witnesses. “A messy troll. The nymph, arguing about the cost of glamours and high magic. A gnome. And one other.”
“Are you saying there was a race you couldn’t identify…in the shop? Was not one the human bard?”
“Not human.” She picked at a spot of lint on the chair cushion.
“Are you sure?” Siofra asked. “I know humans have a distinct…scent.”
The brownie glared at them. “One male. Not Sidhe. Not faerie. Not human. But he had a fair bit of magic. It glowed around him like an aura.”
“What color was it?” Lysander asked.
“Red.”
“Did you see anyone touch Daire at any time?”
“I saw the bard knock over a bin of fairy dust and blame it on the troll. He opened one of the doors, and the Keeper wasn’t happy about it. She warned him.”
“How?”
“I couldn’t hear. Didn’t care. But it was a warning. She raised her voice.”
“You may go.”
The brownie traipsed out without another word.
Siofra and Lysander looked at one another and spoke in unison. “The bard is not a human.”
“He lied,” Siofra said.
“Not exactly. He spoke the truth but in a way that would apply to any version of himself. I believe he actually was a changeling.”
“Yes!” Siofra gasped. “He was not happy when I questioned him about where he originated beyond the veil. Tara.”
The color drained from Lysander’s face. “There is one particular relic kept at Tara that shouldn’t fall into the hands of others. Lia Fal.”
“What is that?”
“The Stone of Destiny. When the true king stands on the stone, it cries out.”
“Whyever would you leave something like that in the land of humans?”
“It’s sunken in the earth and cannot be moved…but it can be broken off.”
Greum brought in the gnome. Upon inspection, he also had no glamour and was extremely unhappy about their investigation. “Why am I here?”
“The Keeper was murdered.”
“Nothing to do with me. I paid for my seeds. I’ve a narrow window for prosperous planting.” He shoved the blue pointed hat on his head more firmly in place.
“Who spilled the fairy dust?”
“Great bulking troll.”
“Did anyone approach Daire with harmful intent?”
“Dead, ain’t she?”
Siofra smiled and slid to the edge of her seat. “What are you planting?”
“Magic beans. One o’ the giants needs a stalk to climb.”
“That must be fun.”
His face pinched in a scowl. “Nothing fun about living in the clouds.”
“True. There’s nothing fun about getting stabbed either. Who were those strange men talking to Daire?”
“No one spoke to her. And before you ask, I didn’t see anyone traveling through the doors. I didn’t notice anything until the troll screamed. Like a wee girl.” That amused him, and he chuckled briefly. “Can I go?”
“Yes.” Lysander followed the gnome to the door.
Only one witness remained.