“Whose blood?”
“Lukka’s,” she whispered. “I found her lying across the threshold of the nursery. They’d cut her throat and the puddle . . . It had run down the tiles, into all the crevices. Almost the whole floor was wet with it.”
“Lukka was his nurse?”
Claire nodded, her lips pale. “She was so young. I wasn’t sure, when they first brought her to me, but she was really good with him. The fey love babies and she couldn’t—” She swallowed. “She loved him,” she said simply. “And he wasn’t even there, and they killed her anyway.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know!” She gestured tiredly. “It could have been anyone. There’s no shortage of people who think they’d be better off if Aiden had never been born.”
“But it must have been someone Lukka could have identified, or there would have been no need to kill her.”
“That’s what I realized, after. But then I just turned around and ran. I didn’t stop until I got to Uncle’s portal—”
“That’s why you showed up with no shoes.” That was one mystery solved, at least.
She nodded. “It’s over a mile from the palace, in the middle of some pretty thick woods. I lost them on the way.”
“Doesn’t the palace have its own portal?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’d planned to come here anyway, and I guess it was stuck in my head, because I was halfway there before I even thought about it.”
“You planned to come here?”
“Yesterday, when we found out about Naudiz.” She said that like I should know what it meant.
“I hate to sound like twenty questions, but—”
Claire got up and started pacing back and forth along the porch. “It’s this rune. It isn’t even well carved, just a piece of stone with some crude scratches on it. Caedmon showed it to me once, told me it was part of a set that’s mostly lost now. Nobody seems to know where it came from; everyone I asked just said ‘the gods.’” She made a face. “But the fey always say that when they don’t know.”
“And it’s important why?”
“Because it’s been used for . . . well, pretty much ever, as far as I can tell, to guard the heir to the throne. He’s supposed to get it in a ceremony on his first birthday, or as soon as he’s able to withstand its magic. The legend says that whoever wears it can’t be killed.”
“But it’s gone missing?”
She nodded. “Aiden’s only nine months old, but he’s a big boy. So I petitioned to have the ceremony moved up. There was some muttering about protocol, but considering the number of ‘accidents,’ I managed to get my way. And then, the very next night, the relic vanished, right out of the family vault.”
“Who had access to this vault?”
“It was spelled. No one who wasn’t a close blood relative could get in.”
“And how many would that be?”
“Normally only two: Caedmon and Heidar. I couldn’t even go unless one of them was with me.”
“Normally?”
“Before Efridís came to court,” Claire said savagely. “She’s Caedmon’s own sister, and yet—I should have known. She’s ?subrand’s mother!”
I repressed a shudder. ?subrand was a fey prince with a sadistic streak who had almost killed me the last time we met, playing what he’d considered a fun little game. I heal quickly—one of the few perks of my condition—yet I still bore the shape of a hand, faint and scar-slick, burned into the flesh of my stomach. His hand.
Of course, the fey hadn’t given a damn about that, as human life, or what passed for it in their eyes, was hardly a valuable commodity. But they had cared very much whensubrand had tried to kill Caedmon. His father was king of a rival band of Light Fey, and I suppose he’d hoped to unify their two lands under one ruler someday. Or maybesubrand was just tired of waiting for his old man to kick off and decided to go conquer himself a country. Either way, Caedmon hadn’t been amused.
“Tell me they executed that little shit.”
Claire shook her head. “The Domi—that’s their council of elders—wanted to, but Caedmon vetoed it. Faerie is trembling on the brink of war as it is, and he was afraid that executing the Svarestri heir would tip it over into chaos.”
“So what happened to him?”
“They put him in prison, if you think having about twenty servants and the run of a castle qualifies!”
“What the hell—”
“It’s a hunting lodge, actually, but it’s as big as a damn castle.”
“Why isn’t he in a cell somewhere?” I demanded. Preferably one with extra rats.