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“If the Galahirs were responsible for this, there would have been poison in their goblets, too… but they would have conveniently never gotten around to drinking any wine. Also, at least one or two assassins would have pretended to try to kill them. Not one of the attackers so much as came within three paces of either of them. It’s too obvious. Whoever is behind this wants everyone to think the siblings did it.”
Allison’s voice manifests in my head: Tammy is asking you to stall for ten minutes. She has an idea.
With that, Tammy runs across the dining hall and zooms out the door, rather indelicately asking random people where the nearest outhouse is. I’m absolutely sure she doesn’t have to ‘powder her nose’ as they put it here. That’s a diversionary question. She’s up to something, but what?
Oh well. She wants ten minutes. I can do that. There’s enough political BS here to dissect it for at least three hours.
While I have the crowd’s attention, I start pointing out reasons to suspect or exonerate each of the noble houses, trying to sound as dispassionate as possible so none of them take it as me accusing them. Certainly, Nesanth is here in the room with us and quite amused at me for confusing the waters even more. Maybe it’ll get her to lower her guard. I’m even confusing myself.
I say Roldon had assassins go after his children, so he could be angry enough to want revenge for such a cowardly attack. Not knowing who did it, he tried to poison everyone. Then I say but Roldon Barathor is not the sort of man who would resort to poison, which he considers cowardly. It’s kind of fun watching the guy go from being furious at me to smiling as I talk him up and give him compliments. Evidently, saying that he’d walk right up and kill someone he firmly believed tried to hurt his family is taken as a compliment here.
And so, I repeat the back and forth with reasons each noble might have done this with reasons each one would not have done it. The only thing I don’t mention is Anvar’s romantic relationship with the previous king and queen, or his admission to wanting the rest of the noble houses gone. The others don’t know this. It’s knowledge we have from having read the books. Wouldn’t want to make the situation here any worse or more violent. It would only shift everyone’s wrath off the Galahir siblings onto him.
I’m in the middle of talking about how Anvar’s not interested in the crown and merely wants to enjoy life painting and drinking wine when Tammy rushes back into the room. She’s barefoot in her leaf dress again, which means whatever she did required turning into an animal.
A few people near the door gawk at her, like some woodland dwelling peasant just crashed their black-tie event.
Tammy jogs across the room and jumps up to stand on the table next to me. She holds a silver amulet up over her head and says, “By the light of Thiana, I cast out all fiends. By the light of Thiana, I rebuke the undead and all that crawls within the shadow of the netherworld. Feel her purity and begone!”
The amulet in her hand glows like one of those police Maglites capable of melting the skin off your face.
Demetria recoils from her, shielding her face with both hands, hissing, and baring her fangs.
… and so does Lady Meritha.
“What just happened?” asks Damon.
Tammy holds the amulet out toward Meritha like a character in a B-horror movie trying to ward off a vampire with a crucifix. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what she’s doing. “In this world, vampires have to follow certain rules. And one such rule is that Thiana, the goddess of purity, repels all undead. The physical body she created might be hers, but it’s made from this world and it’s beholden to its rules as long as some trace of Quentin remains.”
“Neat trick, book nerd,” says Anthony, grinning.
“Let me guess,” says Lindsey, “you flew across town to the temple and borrowed a blessed symbol?”
Tammy risks looking away from the still paralyzed Meritha. “Good guess.”
Damon edges behind Kingsley for cover. “Okay, so we found her. Now what?”
Meritha, still mostly blinded by the glow coming off the amulet, hisses at Tammy. Faint wisps of smoke peel off her cheeks. Her fingernails have reflexively turned into claws. Doesn’t seem like she’s panicking yet, though she does look furious.
“Now, we deal with a dark master who’s starting to realize all their carefully laid plans are about to collapse around them,” says Kingsley. “In other words, it’s about to get messy.”
Chapter Seventeen
Free Will is Overrated
“Enough of this trickery! None of you are worthy,” bellows Roldon Barathor. “The throne of Frostmarch is mine!”
The warrior lord lunges at Elden Galahir, who barely manages to draw his sword in time to defend himself. For the formal event, both men had been wearing small blades on their belts rather than the long or broadswords they’d have carried into actual battle. Well, not that Elden would ever willingly go into actual battle.
Partygoers scream and retreat away from the middle of the room. Some near the doors and windows cry out in panic, finding all ways out of the room to be mysteriously sealed.
Elden backpedals, each deflected strike knocking him further and further off balance. It’s an absolute miracle he’s still alive.
“Wait, what?” blurts Lindsey. “It was Roldon?”
Allison blinks. “Wow. Never would have suspected that guy to plot all this.”
“Not quite,” yells Tammy. “She’s charming him to attack!”
