Twelve Days of Faery (10 page)

Althea nodded and left the room with her hand curled once more in the folds of her dress, abandoning Markon to Carmine’s curious gaze.

              Carmine looked at him for a very long time before he said: “Well done, human.”

“You don’t call Althea
human
,” said Markon, rather tired of Faery in general and this fae in particular.

“Ah yes, but Althea is special,” Carmine said. His heavy-lidded eyes surveyed Markon for some moments longer before he added: “I don’t normally go in for this line of things, but I’m making an exception in this case. Treat her
very
well, human: and if I ever hear that you’ve given her one day’s sadness I’ll rip your innards through your throat and hang you with them.”

“I think you’ve misunderstood the situation,” said Markon.

Carmine gave him that crooked smile again. “Have I? I think not.”

“Misunderstood what, exactly?” said Althea’s voice. She was in the doorway with a thin young girl that Markon only just recognised as Parrin’s first sweetheart, and she was looking distinctly suspicious.

“Nothing,” said Carmine and Markon together.

That only made Althea look more suspicious, but all she said was: “We should go now, Markon. Lady Milee would like to get back to her parents as soon as possible.”

“Tch, tch,” chided Carmine. “Aren’t you forgetting a little something? I believe you have a bauble of mine.”

Althea said: “I don’t think so.”

“I distinctly recall it. I stood right here, and you stood right there. Handshakes, promises...does it begin to sound familiar to you, sweetness?”

“I said we’d steal it,” said Althea. “I didn’t say we’d give it to you.”

“Now then, neither you did,” said Carmine, with an odd smile that went all the way to his eyes. “Perhaps you’re more fae than you thought.”

“Perhaps,” said Althea, and there was a touch of sadness to her eyes. “Goodbye, Carmine.”

“Keep it for me, then. Until next time, sweetness. Until next time.”

              “What do we know– absolutely
know
?” asked Markon wearily. His back had troubled him all of yesterday and through the night with ice-cold pain that was only now slowly passing away, and he had not slept well.

“Our attacker is a woman,” said Althea, offering him a mug of hot chocolate. It was already too warm in the library but Markon accepted it anyway, and Althea sat briskly down beside him, her back very straight and prim.

“She’s not a magic user, so she either bought the spell or someone gave it to her. Annerlee knew who she was, and the Doors have all been in the castle or the courtyards, so she has to be an inhabitant of the castle.”

“What about the princess? She was attacked by bandits in her own lands.”

“She was at the castle before that, though. All a fae would have needed is a cutting of hair or nails. They’d have followed that scent across the worlds if necessary.”

“It’s a pity Lady Milee couldn’t tell us anything,” Markon said; though he did wonder if it was a case of
couldn’t
or
wouldn’t
. The girl had been terrified, hysterical, and determined only in one thing: to be sent back to her parents in the grasslands of central Montalier.

Althea’s little mouth grimaced slightly above the rim of her mug. “I’m not sure we could have trusted anything she told us: she’s in a rather
delicate
state of mind. Some humans can’t bear Faery.”

Markon, his thoughts skipping ahead, said: “You said the other day that Doctor Romalier was moved after he was murdered. Is there any way to find out
where
he was murdered?”

“I asked Sal about that last night while you were sleeping,” said Althea.

“Oh you did, did you?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, and Markon saw the unconscious flexing of her left hand on the seat, the fingers that had been glass. “Besides, I met him while we were both prowling the halls and he said he’d answer my questions if I answered his.”

Clever Sal! thought Markon, in some amusement. He’d straight away picked on the best way to deal with Althea.

“What did he say?”

“Amazingly little,” Althea told him. “I’ve gotten more out of clams.”

Markon couldn’t help grinning. “Sal has a talent for saying very little. What did you do?”

“I repaid the compliment,” said Althea, but her eyes were amused. “He did tell me that there were scraps of combed wool all over Doctor Romalier’s body.”

“He was wrapped in a sheepskin rug to be moved,” said Markon, pleased to find that he understood. “All the guest rooms in the castle that are away from the furnaces have them on the floors.”

Althea nodded. “Yes, that’s what I found out as well. We had a lovely little walk around the guest quarters checking empty rooms and knocking on guest doors.”

“Did you tell the guests what you were looking for?” asked Markon apprehensively. He could only imagine how furiously offended the Count and Countess of Doute would be if told that his seneschal was looking for a murder scene in their rooms. Not to mention Pilburn of Wyndsor, who was also quartered in the guest wing and whose nostrils would undoubtedly quiver with outrage at the slightest breath of suspicion.

“No: Sal thought it would be best to tell them that some of the rugs had been contaminated with the sheep rot, and to take them with us.”

“Did they believe you?”

“The Count and Countess did,” said Althea. “They couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. They had the full amount.”

“Pilburn?”

“He had the full amount too, but I don’t think he believed us. He wouldn’t let us take them, at any rate.”

“
Was
one of the rooms missing a rug?”

“The guest room across from Pilburn was missing one of its rugs,” nodded Althea. “I thought that was very interesting, don’t you?”

“Interesting but not very helpful,” said Markon regretfully. “Was Pilburn aware that you were checking the other rooms?”

“He watched us from his doorway the whole time with his nose twitching,” affirmed Althea. She chuckled suddenly. “Sal was very...
dour
...about it.”

“Dour enough to offend?”

“Yes, but all under his breath.”

“Well, I suppose we can rejoice in small mercies for that,” said Markon.

“Pilburn did ask a lot of questions,” Althea added ruminatively. “He was very intent upon knowing what I knew– what Sal knew, too, for that matter. Oh, he was also keen to know when he’d be able to meet with you: apparently he’s asked to see you twice in the last few days and been turned aside each time.”

“I’m living the day at the expense of the morrow,” Markon said, somewhat ruefully. “I don’t particularly want to see him. He’s been especially prickly since Doctor Romalier was murdered.”

Althea looked rather thoughtful at that. “Perhaps he thinks he’s next. That might explain why he’s so interested in what
I’m
up to as well as what Sal’s up to. Maybe I should frame him for the Doctor’s murder just to keep him out of the way. He’s by far too inclined to poke his nose where it isn’t wanted. After all, it was Doctor Romalier who was supposed to be investigating the curse, not Pilburn.”

“Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that we know we’re looking for a woman, I’d be tempted to think he did it. And if it wasn’t for the fact that it must have been someone with a talent for magic who made the spell for our mystery woman, I’d think he did that, too.”

Markon sank into the brocaded seatback and met Althea’s amused eyes. “There’s no real foundation for it, of course,” he added. “Except that Wyndsor was
so determined
to send him here with Doctor Romalier. And if our records are accurate, he was also here as an envoy in the first Wyndsor/Montalier meet and greet half a year before the curse began.”

“The meet and greet was to signal the start of real peace for you, wasn’t it?”

“We hadn’t had more than a few skirmishes for years before that, but it was the official treaty, yes.”

“Well, if it comes to that, I don’t see why someone else couldn’t have given him the spell to carry with him. It’s just a matter of how high you think it could go, and of how knowledgeable you hold Wyndsor to be.”

“Pilburn could have sniffed out a malcontent while he was here first,” said Markon slowly, beginning to sense a thread of real possibility in what had started out as an unreasoned suspicion. “His trunks were clear of magic when he arrived the first time, but a month or so after the team from Wyndsor arrived a few of them were taken on a tour of Montalier’s inner cities. None of them were subjected to security measures when they got back.”

“Our mystery woman, then,” said Althea: “Do you think he found her by chance, or was he sent to find her?”

“If we’re dealing in hypotheticals, I’d say that he found her by chance,” Markon said. He discovered that he’d finished his mug of hot chocolate, and since that didn’t seem to be an ideal state of affairs, he poured himself another. “We all but forced Wyndsor into the agreements: they were very bitter about it all. I don’t particularly like my borders being routinely raided and it seemed expedient to do something about it.”

“I read about the campaign,” Althea said. Her eyes were distinctly amused. “I thought it was exceedingly clever.”

“We were lucky that it rained when it did,” said Markon carelessly, but her appreciative amusement was sweet to him. “Things could have gone harder with us if it hadn’t.”

“You went out with your men for the run, didn’t you?”

“It didn’t seem fair to ask them to risk making fools of themselves without doing the same,” Markon said. Willing to change the subject, he added: “I don’t think Wyndsor were so well prepared as to have a sleeper in my court, but I do think that they would have taken advantage of whatever unrest they could. If Parrin were to live and die childless, it would be much easier for them to subsume us: some Montalierans would even consider it better to be ruled by a foreign royalty than by a king who wasn’t born to the throne.”

Althea looked impatient. “How ridiculous! When it comes to the point, even your line wasn’t always royalty, as ancient as it is.”

“Treason!” said Markon, laughing. “Ah well, speculation bakes no pies, after all. We said we were going to talk about what we
did
know. Has there been any fae magic in your new suite?”

“No,” said Althea. “But then, I’ve taken care to ward my room rather strongly now. I’ve still got the shard, by the bye. May I keep it?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Markon. “I doubt there’s anything Montalier could do with it that Avernse won’t do twice as well.”

Althea, looking troubled, failed to acknowledge the compliment. “I’d like to know why Carmine gave it to us.”

Markon looked at her curiously. “He didn’t. You tricked him out of it and the girl.”

“Yes, I think that’s what he’d like us to believe.”

Markon thought it over, and found that he agreed. He opened his mouth to ask what she thought Carmine meant by it, but found himself asking instead: “Did he really try to buy you?”

“A few times,” said Althea, with a small smile that worried Markon slightly. “Not all the fae are the same, you see: they don’t reason like us and I don’t think any of them quite see us as equals, but they’re not all monsters. At first I thought it was only kindness in him, trying to rescue me. Then I realised that he was actually interested in me.”

“Wouldn’t your mistress sell you?”

“Master. No. He was trying to drive the price up and he didn’t like Carmine much. I think he enjoyed watching him get rebuffed.”

“
Did
he get rebuffed?”

Althea’s cheeks went slightly pink, and she sipped her hot chocolate with great attention. “I may have let him kiss me once or twice.”

“
Really
?” said Markon with great affability. To his great amusement, this made Althea’s colour deepen.

“Well, he was a very good kisser, and I was only eighteen! I knew exactly what kind of fae he was and the sort of fun he liked to have with fae or human women. I had no idea that it was marriage that he was after. If I had–”

Althea stopped and considered this, frowning.

Markon, his amusement suddenly and utterly deserting him, said: “Would you have married him if you’d known?”

“Perhaps,” said Althea. She looked up at Markon and the frown cleared away as suddenly as it had come. “I’m glad I didn’t know. I made my own escape on my own terms. Carmine is rather delightful but he’s also rather exhausting.”

She curled her fingers around the dwindling mug of hot chocolate and fell into an appreciative silence, which Markon was happy enough not to break. He had his own thoughts to think, and if they weren’t exactly pleasant, they weren’t unpleasant either.

              It was only after he’d disposed of his mug on the occasional table beside the armrest that a weight nudged itself into his shoulder, and he realised Althea’s silence was because she’d fallen asleep. It seemed a pity to wake her, so Markon gently removed the chocolate mug from her fingers and placed it beside his own. Then he manoeuvred himself into a more comfortable position, put his feet up on the footstool, and went to sleep as well.