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“One would think.” Demetria smiles. “Not doing so would be exactly how he distances himself from suspicion.”
Tammy furrowed her brow. “Do you think the guy hired an assassin to attack himself?”
“Perhaps. He is the sort of reckless fool who’d arrange for it without telling the assassin it’s a setup, believing he’d be entirely capable of defending himself.” Demetria shrugs. “Or perhaps he’s too direct for that. Over there…” Demetria nods toward a blonde couple. “That’s Sansha and Elden Galahir.”
The pair are both in their mid to younger twenties with long blonde hair. Both are almost too beautiful to be real, with an ephemeral quality like they’ve just walked out of a dream vision of some old faerie tale. They also have an oddly strong resemblance.
“Are they siblings?” I ask.
“Yes.” Tammy fake winces. “Oh, and they’re married.”
I squirm. “You can’t be serious.”
She laughs. “Oh, but I am. This is a Quentin book, after all. But... they’re not romantically involved with each other. Merely act like a married couple except for not kissing or anything.”
“That’s… awkward.” I exhale.
Demetria smiles. “They are wholesome and sweet. Perhaps too wholesome and sweet. While Elden is the older of the two and thus officially the head of House Galahir, he shares power with his sister equally. Most of the charitable work done in Tarramor is sponsored by them. The orphanage, feeding the poor, donating to temples, and so on.”
“They’re the ‘too good to be true’ option,” says Tammy. “If Elden became king, the people think they would be happy… but the other nobles say they’re too naïve, trusting, nice, and not ruthless enough to rule a kingdom. They also have openly said they’re not interested pursuing in the crown. It would be incredibly out of character for them to hire assassins to kill other nobles to claim a crown they don’t even want.”
“Right.” Lindsey appears out of the crowd at Kingsley’s side. “Which is exactly why they’re probably the ones behind it all. They pretend to be all benevolent and innocent while in reality, they’re evil.”
Tammy tilts her head. “You really think so? There’s nothing in the books about them doing anything shady. I mean, except for their bizarre relationship.”
Lindsey tugs at her frilled sleeve. “They’re not having a relationship. Think of them like a pair of grade school-aged siblings in the bodies of adults who are like super close and massively codependent.”
“That’s still kinda creepy,” I mutter.
“Their father almost got crowned king.” Lindsey gives a sad sigh. “They found him and his wife dead in their bed the morning of the coronation. Poisoned. Elden and Sansha were only six and seven years old at the time.”
Wow. I cringe. If this world had therapists, they’d be rich beyond imagination.
“The man over there…” Demetria points at a thin man with greying hair and premature wrinkles. “...is Nielf Teredwyn. Your thoughts?”
“Can’t be him behind it,” whispers Lindsey. “He’s a coward. Basically, the medieval fantasy equivalent of a nerd.”
“He is not,” mutters Tammy.
“Sure he is.” Lindsey puffs out her chest in pride, then laughs. “We can smell our own. Nielf is a bookish sort of guy who spends all his time reading and studying and sometimes going on archaeological trips in the northlands. He’s not willing to risk his life for the sake of power. That said, the guy would take power if it came with a guarantee of safety.”
“Accurate.” Demetria sighs. “Though as they say, it’s always the quiet ones. Who would suspect the cowardly little librarian of being the mastermind behind it all? One might even argue his intelligence makes him the most likely suspect.”
“Who’s Henry the Eighth over there?” asks Kingsley.
Allison blinks. “Wow. He’s a walking fashion crime.”
I follow everyone’s gaze to a rotund man richly dressed in a port-wine colored tunic over pale blue leggings and lime green boots with long, curled pointy toes.
“That,” says Demetria, “is Nald Mur, head of House Mur.”
“Yeah, that’s totally him.” Lindsey narrows her eyes. “Another too good to be true case.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Nald is probably the wealthiest of all the nobles.” Lindsey waves her arm in a sweeping gesture. “He owns the majority of the farms around here and controls much of the food, wine, and cheese coming into the city.”
“That doesn’t sound too good to be true.” Kingsley scratches his chin.
