Page 36 of Once Broken Faith

“Yeah,” I said. “The second is that I need to be able to remove people from the conclave to talk to them, with your authority, so no one can say, ‘No, I don’t talk to changelings.’ There’s a good chance our killer is here for the conclave. Before anyone takes offense, I’m also going to need to talk to the staff, and see whether anyone moved here from Angels, since our other option is that somebody with a grudge saw an opportunity and took it.”

“You don’t think that’s what happened, though, do you?” asked Maida.

I shook my head. “No, because if Arden had anyone on staff who could do what King Robinson described, I think I’d know about it. I could be wrong, which is why I still want to talk to them, but . . . it feels wrong. If I could ask for blood—”

“No.” Aethlin’s voice was hard as he cut me off.

I blinked at him. “But blood can’t lie. We’d know.”

“And I would be the High King who’d betrayed all his subjects by requiring them to bleed for someone who did not hold their oaths. Blood can be used for more than just divination. It can be used to bind, to compel loyalty. I won’t order them to bleed for you.”

I knew all too well how blood could be used to compel loyalty. That was Evening’s entire modus operandi. I still stared at him, fumbling for another way. “What if . . . what if they bled for you? You’re Daoine Sidhe.”

“My blood magic is not as strong as it could be,” Aethlin admitted. “I would exhaust myself while learning nothing useful. No blood. Not until you have cause to demand it.”

Well, this was just swell. “Got it.”

“What was the third thing?” asked Maida.

“I sort of have a bad track record with kings and queens and accusing them of things and them getting pissed at me,” I said. “I need you to tell everyone here that they can’t leave until we find the killer, and make sure they know that I’m doing this because it’s my job, not because I think it’s fun to harass the monarchy.”

“But you do think it’s fun to harass the monarchy,” said Quentin.

I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s not the point.”

“Sir Daye,” said High King Aethlin, pulling my attention back to him. “Can you find the person who did this?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I can sure as hell try.”

“Then you will have everything you’ve requested, and may the root and the branch grace us with the answers that we need,” he said.

I nodded but didn’t speak. I was going to have to solve another murder.

Goody.

ELEVEN

I SAT ON THE FLOOR of the quarters I was sharing with Quentin, my back to the door and my head in my hands. People were shouting in the hall outside. The process of telling the kings and queens that neither they nor their retinues would be allowed to leave the knowe until we found King Robinson’s killer was in full swing, and people were pissed. No one likes having their freedom restricted. As it turns out, fae monarchs like it even less than most. There would be privacy spells cast eventually, allowing everyone to have a little peace and quiet while they were in their rooms, but that was going to take time.

At least Raj had already gotten out of here. At least May was at the house, and could feed the cats.

At least.

“They sure can yell,” said Quentin.

“Don’t speak poorly of your peers,” I said.

He didn’t say anything. I lifted my head and he was grimacing at me. “Don’t call them my peers,” he said. “It’s weird.”

“But it’s true,” I said, and dropped my head again. “Any one of them would be happy to tell you that you have more in common with them than I do, being a pureblood and all. And that’s before they know that you’re . . . you know.” Until the privacy spells came down, I wasn’t going to call him a prince. That was a risk too big for me to take. “To most of these people, I’m no better than a dog.”

“Arden’s seneschal is a dog half the time.” Quentin walked across the room and sat next to me, settling with his back against the door. “I don’t think being a dog is so bad. Dogs are loyal. And fun to be with. And won’t call you names, or get mad at you for things you can’t help, like who your parents are.”

“You are a weird kid.”

“Whose fault is that?” I could almost hear him smiling. If I looked up, I knew he’d be looking at me, one corner of his mouth curved in lopsided amusement. He’d been with me long enough that I probably knew the man he was becoming—the man who was sitting beside me—better than his mother did.

There was something sad about that. Blind fosterage keeps the children of the nobility safe, and when the choice is that or what King Gilad had done, failing to acknowledge his children out of fear of losing them, I could almost understand. It was still a terrible loss. Childhood is precious whether or not you live forever. Quentin and his parents would have centuries to be adults together. They should have been allowed to see him being a child.