I keep my expression as neutral as I can. Even though no one but the two guards is present, I try not to reveal that I’m at all flustered by Tris’ blatant show of disregard. I already expected as much before I arrived. As soon as I realized the guards were bringing me here instead of to the queen’s private study where we normally meet, I knew she meant to put me in my place. Making me wait before her empty throne is meant to be a clear reminder that she’s the one with the power. She holds my bargain. My very life is in her hands. And she is not a woman to take kindly to being ignored.
I half expect to be ambushed at any moment. For Tris to march into the room with a dozen guards, ready to silence me while she has the chance. She must know by now that Astrid and I are working together. If she’s as clever as I think she is, she’ll know I suspect her. That I’m gathering evidence against her. My muscles are coiled tight, my limbs ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of attack. If Tris makes any such move, that will have to be proof enough to take to the Alpha Council. The challenge, of course, would be getting out alive.
I glance around the throne room, seeking exits. It’s the first time I’ve been here, and if I weren’t so on edge, it would be a sight to behold. The room is immense with floors of polished cherrywood and walls of rose quartz. Living cherry trees climb the walls, their boughs supporting the arched ceiling in place of support beams. I squint, seeking hidden assailants among their branches, but they appear empty. They smell empty too. The only nearby scents are those of the guards. Older aromas linger, the most persistent belonging to the queen. I sift through dozens upon dozens more, noting Marybeth’s profile. It’s less recent than I expected her trail to be, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t somewhere in the palace. I continue sifting through scent trail after scent trail until one makes my heart stumble.
Astrid.
It’s old. Months old. I glance straight ahead where the scent is condensed. The queen’s throne takes up most of my vision. It’s a towering chair, the backrest made from crystal vines that sprout bright pink flowers, its base shaped like heavy roots that climb straight from the cherrywood floor. But behind the throne are two smaller, less elaborate chairs, both carved from milky white crystal. My eyes land on the left where Astrid’s old scent lingers. The two smaller thrones must have once belonged to Astrid and her father. I’m surprised the queen gave Astrid a seat in the throne room at all.
Movement catches my eye, drawing my attention to a hidden door at the back of the room. Queen Tris emerges in her seelie form—the only body I’ve ever seen her in. She’s a pixie in her unseelie form, but the only evidence of her alternate manifestation is the enormous pair of pink wings folded down her back. Her skin is a rich brown textured in whorls and other bark-like patterns. Her hair is composed of brambles and blossoms, piled upon her head in an elegant updo. As soon as her eyes meet mine, I lower my gaze to the ground and take a knee. I continue to hold the position as she slowly makes her way to the throne. The pink hem of her spider silk gown brushes the floor in front of me.
She lowers herself onto her seat, her wings fanning out on each side of her to augment her regal appearance, but says nothing for several long seconds. Then finally, she demands, “Rise.”
I do as I’m told and straighten to my full height. The queen stares at me through slitted lids, her pale pink irises flashing with annoyance. I breathe deeply, assessing her scent. I’ve met with her enough times to be familiar with her baseline aroma. Right now, it holds a bitter edge, but it says nothing that isn’t already written over her face. Still, I keep myself attuned to the scent. Whatever happens next might be tantamount to proving Astrid’s innocence and the queen’s guilt. No matter what she does or doesn’t say, I’ll need to assess every rise and fall of her fragrance. Smell for every hint of deception.
She waves a dismissive hand at the two guards, and they exit out the hidden door, leaving me and the queen alone.
“You have much explaining to do, Huntsman,” she says, tone icy. “When we last spoke, you told me you’d found my stepdaughter and were about to finish your mission. Ever since, you’ve given me nothing but silence when you were supposed to give me Astrid Snow’s bleeding heart. Explain.”
I read her aroma, surprised when I still find nothing beyond irritation. Nothing to suggest she knows exactly what happened since our last conversation.
“There were complications,” I say, choosing my words carefully. If she’s going to feign ignorance for now, then I’ll play a similar hand. No need to reveal all my cards at once and let her know I’m aware of the truth.
“I can’t imagine any complications too great for you to overcome. What I find unsettling is that you’ve checked into a hotel in Bellabrook.”
Good, she already knows I stayed at a hotel in Bellabrook last night, I note to myself. I hardly slept a wink in the luxury suite, mostly due to worry over leaving Astrid behind, but if it kept Tris from suspecting I’ve been at Davenport Estate—and that Astrid is there too—then it was worth it in the end.
The queen continues. “This tells me you did not travel by Chariot and that you’ve left my stepdaughter in Irridae. Why?”
“Miss Snow is no longer in Irridae.”
Tris clenches the arms of her throne so tightly her knuckles turn pale. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost her trail,” she says through her teeth.
“I haven’t.”
“Are you suggesting she’s in Bellabrook?”
“I’m suggesting that my mission is still underway.”
“You’re being rather evasive right now, and I do not appreciate it.” Her voice trembles with suppressed rage, echoed by the agitated buzz of her wings. “And you haven’t answered anything regarding the Chariot. Why is that?”
Is she asking about the Chariot because she truly doesn’t know? Or is she baiting me because shedoesknow? There’s still nothing in her scent profile to suggest she’s hiding anything. Or that she even knows I suspect her. “I no longer have it.”
Her wings go still, and she leans forward in her throne so fast, I almost expect her to topple onto her face. “You what?”
Her shout echoes through the empty throne room, and her scent rises with it. Her shock and anger seem genuine, which tells me she doesn’t know Marybeth has the device now. That doesn’t prove Tris isn’t the one controlling the girl, however. Which means it’s time to provoke her into giving me the truth. “That was another complication I ran into. Marybeth.”
She blinks at me a few times. “Who is Marybeth?”
I frown. “Miss Snow’s lady’s maid.”
“What does she have to do with anything?”
I watch her carefully, my breaths slow and steady to catch every possible shift in her aroma after what I say next. “Were you not aware that Marybeth came to Irridae City?”
“No, of course I wasn’t.”
My body goes still. She couldn’t have stated such a thing if it wasn’t true. Neither she nor I can lie. And there’s still no change in her aroma. No hint of deception.
