“Wouldn’t want to destroy those, they might need to borrow a book,” I muttered.
At the end of another hall, right before the entrance to the kitchens, was a large T-wall. I stood staring, for a long moment, at what appeared to be a portrait of the new lord of the north. Naked. It was plainly a hurried job, but all the important parts were there. I turned to Chevelle, but couldn’t decide whether he was trying to conceal a grimace or smile. I took the time to glare at him before moving on, just in case.
Hurried footsteps caught up with me shortly, but they were delayed enough that I knew he’d taken care of the graffiti.
The fey had managed a considerable amount of damage to the castle in the short time they’d been liberated, but no one had been badly injured. The kitchen staff had it the worst, there were plenty of utensils to clang around and batter with, though I’d not checked the stables. They always had fun in the stables. I kicked a broken crate from my path.
“We’ve got one,” Grey announced from the doorway, and I turned to find him ragged, clothes torn, face scratched.
“A lion?” I asked.
He had no sense of humor after what he’d been through. His answer was flat. “A fairy.”
We met him at the door. “Thank you, Grey,” I offered. “Go see Ruby.”
He looked at me curiously.
“Before she tears Steed apart. Or whatever.”
He nodded.
They held the tiny female in an unused room, empty of all but a wrought iron chair and two irritated guards. Rhys and Rider weren’t scraped and tattered as Grey had been, but they didn’t get agitated much so I figured she must have been a difficult one. They had bound her to the chair at the wrists, ankles, elbows, knees, thighs, waist, and chest. The chair had been bound to the stone. I didn’t ask what they’d done to the chains to keep her from working free, because I was afraid the answer was a spell.
I walked closer, though I’d learned my lesson from coming too near our last prisoner, and nodded toward the gag. Rider reached in and yanked it free. A stream of curses followed, I assumed picking back up directly where she’d left off when he’d shoved the rags in her mouth in the first place. It was quite impressive, and I let her run with it for a few moments to wear herself down.
“... son of an imp and your mother was an unbonded flaxen whore!” she finished.
Rhys had gone pale. Apparently, neither he nor his brother had dealt with many fairies before. Rant ended, she turned her gaze to me and her natural beauty returned, smoothing her face into ethereal magnificence beneath her sun-kissed chestnut curls. The light streaming in through the small, slitted windows behind her reminded me that it wasn’t even midday. I suddenly felt exhausted.
“Why are you here?” I asked, skipping the introductions.
Her gaze flicked to Rider. “Because this ignorant ram’s ass tied me to a chair.”
“Indeed.” I cleared my throat. “But why were you here, in the castle, before you were tied to a chair?”
She smiled. “Surely you would know, Lord Freya.” She added enough sweetness to my name to make it perfectly clear she’d used the endearment as satire.
“Veil is gone. The others are dead.”
Only the slightest flicker of emotion flashed, too brief to tell whether it was worry or anger, but long enough to be certain she hadn’t meant to be left behind.
“I know you are not a spy,” I said politely, “but it is too dangerous to keep you here.”
For a fraction of a second, she was relieved to hear of her coming release. And then she realized she’d mistaken my meaning completely. “What will it take?” she asked.
“The truth.”
“Each holds his own truth. What will it take?”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I was bored,” she answered. “That is my truth.”
“And the others? What was their purpose?”
“I cannot know.”
“Then you cannot live. I will not waste the lives of my guards watching you, nor risk them for the same.” I turned to leave.
“I could guess,” she offered nonchalantly as my hand reached for the door.
“What do you suppose, then?” I asked, turning back to face her.
She shrugged. “Might have been the girl. The grays seemed very interested in bringing her back.”
“For whom?”
She shook her head. “I am guessing, remember?”
“You’ve heard.”
“I hear a lot of things, it doesn’t make them true.”
“And Veil’s truth?” I asked. “What is that?”
Her eyes peered into mine. It was more than a little disturbing, but not as disturbing as her statement. “He does want you.”
“Why was he here?” I asked, forcing my tone to steady.
She glanced at my neck, seemed confused, and then shrugged it off. I waited. “There was some sort of gift,” she said finally.
I nodded. “And what do you know of this offering?”
She shook her head. “Gift. And I know nothing.”