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“You can’t tell which one is Nesanth?” I ask Demetria.
“Alas, I am not able to see into their thoughts here. Quentin’s vampires do not possess powers of mind reading, only domination.”
I turn to Lindsey and Tammy. “Let’s sum up. What do we know about the houses so far? More specifically... who hired the assassin?”
Lindsey holds up a finger. “House Barathor might be doing it because no one would suspect the brash warlord of being so subtle. But he’s also a brash warlord who isn’t subtle, so it’s not like him to hire assassins.”
“Everyone thinks House Normund is evil and in league with black magic,” says Tammy, “Which means they are probably not the responsible house… but it also could be exactly why they are.”
“Elden and Sansha Galahir are way, way too goody-two-shoes to possibly be involved in murder,” adds Lindsey. “Exactly why they’re the ones doing it.”
“Nielf Teredwyn is a spineless coward no one would ever suspect of having the nerve to murder all the other houses so he could seize the crown.” Tammy folds her arms.
“Exactly why he’s the one doing it,” I say in a flat tone.
“Or he’s too much of a coward to dare risking his life.” Lindsey nudges her elbow into my side. “Anvar Londuin isn’t even here. He’s got dealings with the underworld and all the money needed to hire as many assassins as can be. I think he’s the most likely suspect.”
“Which is exactly why he’s not the one responsible.” Kingsley grabs his frilly lapels. “I can play this game, too.”
“And then there’s Nald Mur.” Lindsey stares at the rotund man. “He’s friendly, nice, and already powerful. The man doesn’t need any more power. Chasing the crown would in all practicality be a downgrade for him in terms of life quality. There’s no reason for him to do it.”
“Which is exactly why he’s doing it.” Tammy sighs. “Also, exactly why he wouldn’t.”
“I think it’s House Galahir,” says Lindsey, nodding. “In all seriousness, I think they’re the ones responsible for the murder of Thae’s parents and that their innocent ‘goodness’ is a ruse.”
Tammy gapes at her. “But there’s nothing in the stories that even hints at that. You’re basing that guess entirely on how sweet they are.”
“I am.” Lindsey laughs. “You’re totally correct. No one should be able to live in this world and still be that nice after all the awfulness. Okay, fine. Who do you think it is, Tammy?”
“House Normund,” says my daughter.
“Too obvious.” Lindsey waves her off. “No way. If it turns out to be House Normund, people are going to firebomb the fan forums in the real world with complaining because it was so obvious.”
“I know.” Tammy thrusts her arms out to either side, nearly smacking me in the face. “It is too damn obvious, so no one is going to think it’s really him. It’s too easy, so it’s exactly what’s happening.”
Lindsey taps a finger to her chin. “Or it’s the artist.”
Tammy laughs. “Yeah, totally a surprise there. I dunno, though. Quentin isn’t that sneaky. Besides, there’s absolutely no setup. If it really is Anvar Londuin who suddenly decided he wanted to take the crown, it would come completely out of nowhere and not be believable.”
“I don’t know, Tammy. Quentin once said in an interview that Anvar wants to destroy all the noble houses.” Lindsey shrugs.
“But that doesn’t mean he wants the crown.” Tammy shakes her head. “No, I think Quentin is trolling his fans, trying to misdirect us so that we don’t know what to expect.”
Roldon Barathor’s deep voice suddenly rolls over the room. The man has apparently reached the end of his patience. “Where is the queen? These are matters that demand immediate attention.”
“Are you forgetting her tender age?” replies Malin Normund in a dry tone. “What sort of man would trouble a little child with worries of assassins and intrigue? What possible assistance could she give?”
“Very well. Leave the child-queen out of it.” Roldon’s fire diminishes a bit. “Where’s the regent then?”
Elden Galahir strides over to the empty throne, right next to Roldon. The man looks a bit like a Ken doll come to life. Blond, blue-eyed, Superman-like chin. Athletic and muscular without being a musclebound oaf. I mean, wow. Men are rarely so… pretty. Yes, I realize we’re in a world created by a fantasy writer, but Elden Galahir is so perfect it hurts. His sister is no slouch either, judging by the way the men all stare at her, including my son and, less obviously, Kingsley. They’re totally throwing off a Disney prince and princess vibe. Except for the, you know, not being married part.
“I agree with Roldon,” says Elden Galahir in the tone of a commander addressing his army. “These continued attacks are unacceptable within the realm of a civilized society. Whoever is responsible for them must be brought to justice.”
“And soon,” adds Sansha, his sister. “We cannot expect to maintain the integrity of governance when such lawlessness is allowed to flourish right under our very noses. The crown must set all other matters aside immediately and address this crisis.”
We stand there, listening as the Galahir siblings give an impassioned speech on par with JFK, simultaneously calling on the crown to act and the party or parties responsible for the assassinations to abandon their treachery and commit to civility.
A nice sentiment, but when in the history of power-hungry jackasses has a power-hungry jackass simply given up because someone asked them nicely to stop being a jerk?
