You’re better than this, Indira, Rowenna cuts in.Don’t let sultry eyescloud 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 somedegree—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 alwaysthere, 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 shewas 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 withhim? 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…”
