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I’m almost done snooping around the noble houses of Frostmarch.
Only two left: Galahir and Londuin. Allie and the others checked out House Mur, and Anthony had plans to visit Barathor. I’ve saved the least likely suspects for last, but now I’m starting to wonder if they are, in fact, the most likely. Allison hit me with a doozy of a theory, wondering if little Thae might be Nesanth. It doesn’t seem terribly likely to me having spent several hours in the kid’s company while sneaking her out of this kingdom to safety. She acted in a manner consistent with being a terrified, extremely shy child who tragically knows people want her dead. The one Achilles heel that dark masters have is their ego. Even if it might result in great power, they simply cannot tolerate acting weak and powerless. It’s a thought to keep on the proverbial back burner. I’d be a fool to disregard any suggestion—no matter how unlikely—out of hand without any consideration. Still, my gut says Thae is innocent.
Then again, if Nesanth knows anything about me, she’d know I am a sucker for kids who need help. But… no. She had no idea I was coming until we got here.
Anvar Londuin is some manner of reclusive artist. His family is the smallest of the nobles in the line of succession. My gut tells me he’d only take the throne if no one else could. I do not fail to notice that, if the assassins succeed, he might be exactly that—the only one left to ascend.
According to Lindsey, we’re closer to the Galahir’s manor, so I decide to head there next.
We’re walking down a large street surrounded by people from multiple social strata: poor peasants, average commoners, well-off merchants, and the occasional noble. I feel like I’m on the set of a movie except there are no camera crews or breakfast trucks around. We’re going to have to hurry this up before dressing like this starts to feel normal.
A sparrow zooms down from above, seeming about to land beside me. Before the bird hits the cobblestones, it transforms into my daughter in a spray of leaves and twigs. Tammy looks like a black-haired forest nymph in a short dress of moss, leaves, and vines, with fragments of forest detritus in her mane. Yes, she adores her ability to instantly summon her magical clothing. Though not as colorful, I do have the ability to summon the illusion of clothing when I need to. Illusion being the key word here; I’m still butt naked. The trick served me well in Talos’s home world.
“Hey, ma.” She hugs me. “How’d it go at Teredwyn?”
“I don’t know. Weird and creepy.” I chuckle and look at Lindsey. “What was up with that servant woman who answered the door?”
She shrugs. “No idea. She’s not a major character so I don’t know anything about her.”
“What servant woman?” Tammy frowns.
I describe the woman who looked at us like we were blood-soaked killers. “Any thoughts?”
“Hmm. I think she probably figured out you were the ‘noble from Stonnebrin’ and assumed you’d turn into a werewolf and eat her.”
Lindsey whistles. “Ooh. Yeah. I didn’t think of that. Could be.”
“Or the servant woman is Nesanth, and you caught her off guard walking right up to the front door,” says Tammy in a partially serious tone.
“Ugh. The last thing I need now is another random suspect.” I rub my forehead. “Did you find anything at House Normund?”
“Not really. Some ritual rooms in the basement.” Tammy shrugs one shoulder. “After you left, Malin sent some people out to look for any proof of who hired the assassins. He also seems to think you might be the dark force from another place.”
“Me?” I chuckle.
“You know that whole ‘so unlikely it’s probably true’ thing.” Tammy swipes her hair away from her right eye. “I don’t think he really believes you’re the problem. He just wants to be as sure as possible. If he was Nesanth, would he put on a show of sending people to investigate when he didn’t realize anyone could hear him?”
“Actually, yes,” I say, sighing. “Think about it, since Nesanth is intertwined with Quentin, anything that happens in this world, she would know about it. As such, if Malin Normund is the dark master, he would’ve known you eavesdropped on him... and tried to fool you.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Where to now?” My daughter smiles.
“Golden twins.” I take a deep breath. “This is either going to be painful or hilarious.”
“Nothing in this world is hilarious.” Lindsey shakes her head. “Those two are either exactly as they appear to be and fated to die tragically because they’re so sweet and innocent… or they’re psychotic.”
Tammy leans forward so she can peek around me at Lindsey. “Or both. Psychotic and sweet.”
We make a small detour back to Demetria’s manor so Tammy can put on real clothes. She decides to suffer a dress rather than her ‘rogue’s outfit,’ mostly for the ability to rub elbows with high society and not be kicked out.
House Galahir has a palatial estate in the northern part of the city, an oasis of open greenery in an otherwise densely populated place. It’s as if a slice of the English countryside got picked up and plopped down in the medieval equivalent of Chicago or New York. Their garden makes some city parks back home look small.
A path of pinkish-white stones leads from a wrought-iron gate in the wall by the road over a mile away to the estate house. Various trees, flowers, bushes, small fountains, and white stone benches litter the open ground on both sides. There’s a hedge maze in the distance behind the house on the left and a placid pond on the right. The house itself is similar in shape to the US Capitol building, being basically rectangular with a fatter middle part and a dome. It’s much larger, though. Four stories tall and at least as wide as two football fields end to end.
“Guess I’ll be your younger sister,” says Tammy, poking my arm. “No one will believe I’m your daughter.”
Talk about mixed feelings. Most women would be thrilled to be mistaken for their daughter’s older sister. It only makes me feel weird because it gets me thinking of immortality and her lack of it… or perhaps not. Faeries live forever. Tammy has also been… I don’t want to say super clingy with me since her witch training happened, since clingy isn’t the right word. She’s not dependent on me or helpless without me. No, we’re just really close now. She wouldn’t want me to be sad when she gets old and dies, so if it’s within her magical abilities to live longer, I’m sure she’s going to somehow do it… or bust her butt trying to figure out how.
Okay. I’ll be flattered that we look like sisters.
