“Yes, butwhichlord?”
“Kon, just tell . . . hold on. Was itTimofey?”
“You'd make a good Garin, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” I flushed, though I wasn't sure what pleased me more—his praise or his use of the word sweetheart. “What else does it say in there?”
“Now you're really thinking like one of us.” He patted the bed beside him.
I sat down next to him and leaned over to read the passage he pointed at. “Great Balvoran! The books. This is about the books!”
Chapter Sixteen
We shared what we could with Olga. Yes, it was an investigation, but she deserved to know something. We couldn't tell her about the books, that might put her in danger, but at least we were able to tell her it was Eva's romantic involvement with Lord Timofey that had gotten her killed. Knowing the reason didn't make the grief go away but at least it showed her that we were making progress. I promised to keep her updated, then Konstantin and I left with Eva's diary.
“So, you were right,” I mused as we headed to the Swan's Beak, the village pub. “Master Andrei was lying about the records. The question is why? Perhaps he was embarrassed that they had gone missing under his watch?”
“I doubt that's it,” Konstantin said. “More likely is that he destroyed those records for a reason, then killed Timofey for discovering that they were missing.”
“And then he killed Eva because he knew it was likely that Timofey had told her about them.”
“Yes.”
“But what has Lady Milana to do with it? I don't think she ever stepped foot in the library, much less the archives.”
“Neither did Eva.”
“Do you think they were both his lovers?”
“It's possible.”
“This is it.” I waved at the one-story building, its roof a sharp slope to match the others in the village.
The plaster walls were so stained that it was hard to imagine them white, and the windows were coated in a gray film from years of indoor smoking. Dmitry insisted that people didn't come to his establishment for the view, rather the opposite. Over the door, a sign in the shape of a swan's head curved, painted black to honor the King, with a red beak to convey the name of the pub. No lettering was necessary.
Kon held the door open for me, then followed me inside. At that time of day, only a few men sat at a round table near the bar, drinking strong tea instead of ale, their thick coats strewn across the back of their chairs and their shoulders hunched as they leaned on the table. A picked-over platter of smoked herring sat on the scarred wood between them with a bowl of sliced bread to the side. They looked up and nodded at me. I held up a hand in greeting before heading to the bar.
“Mikhail,” Dmitry said warmly. “Been a while since I've seen you in here.”
“Good afternoon, Dmitry. This is Konstantin Garin. I'm helping him investigate the murders.”
“You mean Eva's murder?”
The men at the table went silent.
“That's right.”
“I s'pose it's your doing that he's looking into it,” Dmitry said to me. “Thank you for that. You're a good one, Mikhail.”
“Actually, no. The Garin believes that all three murders should be investigated with equal attention. I'm only here to help.”
Dmitry grunted but also nodded at Kon.
“We'd like to speak with Sofia,” Konstantin said. “Is she here?”
Dmitry grunted again and slipped through a doorway behind the bar. “Sofia! Leave the prep for now. Mikhail brought a Garin to speak to you.”
There was a clatter and then Dmitry returned with Sofia in tow. Even more slender than most Larch women, Sofia's petite frame made her seem delicate, especially next to Dmitry, who was on the other end of the Larch spectrum. But delicate women soon hardened in this village, and Sofia stepped forward with an air of a battlefield soldier, wiping her hands off on her apron as if cleaning a sword.
