by Jean Lee
Liam gazes upon Charlotte with strained eyes. “Mother’s gone to meet the Alerons. They should be here shortly.”
Charlotte steps closer to him, hands picking awkwardly at her hair to braid it. She finally gets close enough to pinch either end of the tie between her fingers. She looks into his face. “You look like crap.” Zips the tie off of his neck. “There. Stupid thing’s gonna get caught in your harness.”
A single laugh escapes Liam’s dry lips, and for a moment Charlotte smells the right Liam, the skipping stones Liam, the tree-climbing, pastry-covered Liam who stayed by her side even when Orna’s nightmare took over her mind. The Liam who could make her laugh, make her feel…worth something.
“Thank heart’s fire, that gives us some time.” Keller tugs them both across the studio to the far end of the room. “Pity the room’s bare, but hopefully you both can provide the necessary information.”
“What is my living decay to you?” Liam asks.
“I want to know for certain that Dorjan Durant is guilty before I kill him.”
33
Defending Dorjan
“You can’t kill Dorjan!” Charlotte exclaims.
But Liam keeps a cold composure. “Curious, Brother. I didn’t think you cared about little things like innocence or guilt.”
Keller bends down on his haunches, fingertips spider-crawling across the corner. “Normally? No. But he is a fellow princeborn, and the all-knowing Lady Artair has plans for him.” The word plans falls from his mouth like a spinach-flavored candy.
Liam rolls his eyes. “Ar son Dé…”
Charlotte kneels close to Keller, unsure if she should help, or simply tackle him. “Doesn’t she get sick of scheming after a gazillion years?”
“Time,” Keller pauses as he traces one sharp, crescent-shaped indentation in the floor, “means nothing to her.” He bends forward to blow away some dust there, and in a few other places. More indentations appear. “Your desk and chair—here?”
Liam nods, hands in his pockets. “An easy breeze from the door to the gardens, easy light on either side of the room.
Keller back-crawls, focus fixed upon the floorboards. “Any visitors besides Dorjan?” He stops crawling. “Hang on. How do you know him?” he asks Charlotte with a crooked eyebrow.
Danger, Charlotte Aegir! “He visits Arlen, duh. Who is where, please?”
Keller waves the question off like a bug and starts picking at the woodgrain with his fingernails.
Liam struggles to kneel, but eventually finds a way to do so without bending the blasted shoes. “A human was brought in that evening as well. By was it Peat? He always took longer to return from a hunt.”
“So.” Keller finds a few flecks of silver and gold dust. He rubs them between his fingers, smells them. “Where did this come from?”
“I remember…” Charlotte moves slowly to the door across from where Liam’s desk once stood. She casts her mind back to the stormy morning she first arrived at River Vine and hid from Dorjan and Arlen so she could sneak into the Pits alone for her sister. Liam’s studio was but an artist’s graveyard then, with half-alive sculptures, unfinished paintings, piles of metal rods, all layered in the grit of time. But in the storm’s lightning she still caught sight of… “It was like a, a trail of silver and gold to Liam’s chair. Not super long, just a few feet.”
Lord Artair’s jovial laughter echoes up the stairs, sending her neck hairs bristling and Liam’s fingers twitching.
“Liam, did you use any sort of metallic paint or polish?” asks Keller.
Liam’s gaze moves around the room. He breathes deep the absence, and sighs. “No.”
“A few feet of star-colored dust. Liam, in his chair—” Keller stands facing the wall and waves his left arm. “Blood dagger is…where?”
“In its harness, usually hanging near the door to the butler’s pantry—well, staircase today.”
“Shame shame, Brother. A warrior should never wander far without his weapon…unless you had other ways to conquer your company.”
Liam blushes, but he is no Bossy Imp today, not when his eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed. “Can’t remember. Even as we speak now, and I try to look back… No, I didn’t like having the dagger too near when females were brought in, but that night—was a female brought, or a male? I cannot…find it; the memory, it’s all mottled.” Charlotte comes over to help him stand, sending whatever silent encouragement she can from her palm to his. “I remember Dorjan. I remember arguing. I remember him challenging me to pick up my blood dagger, but—” The front door to Rose House opens, and several voices catch up to Lord Artair’s laughter. “—I threw the harness and dagger both into some old clay, and he stormed off.”
The stairs creak.
Keller rushes over, eyes darting between them and the stairwell. “Quickly now. Charlotte, was the harness still hanging in place? Liam, who else came to you that night, after Dorjan?”
Charlotte shakes her head. Liam’s answer stumbles out of him. “I can’t remember many. Lily, I think, then Campion. Did Remus come then, or before Dorjan? Or that was Peat still flapping through. Mac an donais, that day is lost in the mists of my—”
“Theeere you are.” Lady Artair practically sings her way into the studio. She floats to their huddle and clasps her manicured hands firmly about Liam’s shoulders. “I do believe you forgot the purpose of fetching Keller to meet us out front, so much so you forgot to fetch him completely. And this, thing,” she plucks at the harness strap, “need not be on your person.”
“A warrior should never wander far without his weapon, Mother.” Liam says quietly.
“Hmph. Such a sign of mistrust will insult your bride downstairs.”
This time, Liam barks a laugh that makes Charlotte’s skin crawl. “I’d be shocked if she didn’t wear poison and blade both, Mother.” He nods at Keller, then Charlotte. Looks a heartbeat longer at Charlotte, then says to himself more than anyone, “Let’s get this over with.” And stalks out before Lady Artair can command him.
Another grey hair falls out of place by Lady Artair’s temple. She smooths it quickly. “Keller, the ground floor isn’t finished. See to it.” Her silk sleeves billow as she walks briskly out, shutting the door behind her.
34
Raspberries
Keller snarls some rather vile sounding French, and then, “Aether forbid that we use the same staircase as the precious Heir Apparent.”
Charlotte ignores his grumbling and opens the studio’s door. It should lead them to a dozen-foot drop down to the side of Rose House, but nope—there’s that little porch by the portico, the plain but convenient connection between Liam’s studio and the music room, whose door is just five feet or so in front of Charlotte. Rose House is still broken here, its rock wall smashed up, and Poppy is still reveling.
“Paper tornadoes! Charlotte Charlotte, c’mon and spiiiiiiiiin!” Poppy giggles and twirls herself into Willow, who’s just rounding the corner. Bits of leaves and stems cling to her firey red hair and tunic.
“Blast it, Poppy! Either sit still or go dig!” Willow snatches a bunch of the tornado paper from the air and hands them to someone through a music room window. “We have to haul all of these roses over to the matrignis by sundown.”
Rose and Reed stumble out of the music room’s broken wall, panting. “We can’t do anything about the piano, but that should be the last of the blowing music,” Reed says with a tired wave at Rose House.
Let’s show’em, House. “Sorry I’m late,” Charlotte says, and smacks the wall.
The stones begin to move.
Rose hops out of the broken wall and stumbles through some flowers just in time to join her brother, Willow, and Poppy in the garden. They stand aghast as the stones of the building, once smashed and strewn about like broken teeth, slip and roll by their feet in the grass and come back to Rose House without any command, blood, or fire—merely the touch of Charlotte’s hand on Rose House itself. Broken or whole, every rock knows
its place. The vines and roses once carved into the building’s surface return to bloom.
“How in—how does Rose House swing that?” Keller peers past Charlotte’s shoulder, then back into the studio. Yes, the door they entered on the second floor is still there. Any smell of jealousy evaporates, leaving the air full of sweet curiosity tainted by the bleach of scrutiny. “This defies so, so many laws of physics.”
Charlotte smirks at him. “‘Laws of physics’? Since when do magicky people care about physics?” She walks over towards the long, narrow windows and joins Rose in peeking into the music room. It’s just as it should be, with the piano, the wall of shelves lined with music, the tea table and chairs. There’s even that tin pitcher on the table that Arlen filled with lilacs. Dammit, Sir, where are you…
The door between the parlor and music room is open. Charlotte can see Lord Artair’s head as he leans back in yet another laugh—did he get high on the way back here or what?—but there’s someone new, with a balding head, facing away from Charlotte. Strange smell about him, too—musty, tired, yet unsettled, nervous. Lady Artair stands in the center of the parlor, smiling ever so pleasantly as she speaks to someone with a mile’s worth of leg crossed over a yard’s worth of skirt. Charlotte barely registers the sulking, bad beer-smelling figure leaning against the stained-glass arch whining, “Is Keller here yet?” All Charlotte knows is a leg’n’skirt combo like that doesn’t get mismatched often. A leg like that belongs to a saccharin-sweet bombshell. And if she can’t see Liam, he’s either next to that leg, or by the fireplace next to his father with a full view of that leg and its bombshell owner.
Shove that down, Charlie, The Voice urges her. You can’t do anything for Liam right now. Focus on Arlen.
Rose House offers her the best help it can—on the windowsill appears a bowl of Tootsie Pops. “Oooo, Cherry.” Charlotte holds one out to Rose.
Rose slowly shakes her head.
“Me me me me ME!” Poppy squeals.
Charlotte unwraps her pop and tosses a few to Poppy, who immediately sticks all three into her mouth, wrappers’n’all. “I da granach! AAAARGH!”
Reed groans and picks up Willow’s pruning shears. Willow flicks Poppy in the nose. “Knock if off, or I’m dragging you to Devyn to dig.”
“uhn uhn uuuuuhn!” Poppy wildly shakes her head, pops and all.
“I’ll deal with the kitchen,” Charlotte tells Rose.
“And the herbarium,” Rose adds with furrowed brow. “It’d be a nice surprise for Arlen...” Her face falls, the unfinished line cutting Charlotte between the ribs.
If he’s still alive.
Keller tramples the thought. “Room’s a waste of space.”
“Whatever you say.” Charlotte tugs Keller away from Poppy’s rawrs and Willow’s threats.
The moment they reach the back patio and the glass doors to the kitchen, the winds seems to change, and Charlotte catches lake air and—maybe, if her hope’s not getting the best of her—canine. Dorjan! Thank the Aether, or whatever you people say. “You just go on in to see your friend, and I’ll finish things off.”
Keller scoffs. “Friend?”
“Scarecrow McWhinyPants. He’s asking for you.”
The scoff melts into a laugh. “Ha! That’s—okay, I better keep that one between you and me, or he’ll skin you alive.” He leans in, upper lip tickling her ear’s rim as he speaks. “Vincent would do it, too, so you stick with me. I’ll protect you.”
A new scent washes over him, a primal one. A girl could choke on that smell in a high school of horny boys. And I must be stuck here…with…oooh, shit.
Charlotte slides back and away. She pops the Tootsie Pop out of her mouth long enough to say, “If you’re in there with him, I’ll be just as safe. Buh-bye.” She waggles the pop for a wave before chomping back down on it.
Keller opens the patio doors and flashes an impish grin that could rival Liam’s. Almost. “Won’t be long, I promise.”
Charlotte forces a smile and an extra wave. Once he turns to head inside, Charlotte counts to five and darts over to hide near the stained-glass window of the land Cairine. “Dorjan?” she whispers.
A tossed raspberry is her answer.
House, finish yourself off. This…this could get ugly sooner than I thought. Charlotte sneaks into the last stretch of Arlen’s garden not yet harvested of its roses. The foliage is thick, thicker than Charlotte remembers, but that’s fine—she needs to hide.
And so does Dorjan. The bear-pee smell is gone, replaced with an overbearing “sea breeze” of a detergent which still streaks blue across his big black coat. “Lesson learned: never ask a wolf to operate a garden hose.”
Charlotte throws herself at him for a hug. “I’ve been so bloody worried! And Arlen’s missing, somewhere in the Pits, and these people—”
But Dorjan’s hug barely lasts a heartbeat. He yanks her off to arm’s length and chills her with his blue eye. “What was that with Keller just now?”
Charlotte spits out the Tootsie Pop. “Dorjan, c’mon, we don’t have time for that. Just flip through my memory quick and see for yourself.” Charlotte even tries to find the right page in her mental book with Keller’s arrival, taking her time forward through the Pits and Orna getting beheaded, Keller in her quarters, and the ultimatum made over killing her after the wedding. “He’s playing a game I can’t follow, and it’s driving me nuts. Just now he got all hormonal’n’shit, and it’s only been, like, an hour or two.”
But Dorjan’s blue eye glows fiercely, fearfully, behind the stray locks of black hair. “I can’t…I can’t see your memories. Any of them.”
“You’re the one who said I was loud in there,” She says, tapping her own temple. “Dorjan,” she tries to keep him holding on, “keep trying. Please. We need your help, all of us.” And she spills through Arlen’s sit-down with Lord Artair, the your mother control of Lady Artair over Liam. “And now Arlen’s gone. Rose House tried to show me—I think he’s in the Pits. And there’s some Aleron people here to marry Liam, and he’s so messed up, Dorjan, I don’t know what he’s gonna do, and Keller’s staying here, and I can’t figure a flying fuck out why.” She gasps a sob, quickly bites her own arm to stifle it.
“Okay. Okay.” Dorjan speaks softly and takes her back into his arms for a quick hug. “Okay. If I can’t see in your mind now for whatever Aether’s reasons may be, then hopefully they can’t either. That’s a good thing. You say Arlen could be in the Pits?”
Charlotte steadies herself and nods. “Lord Artair’s been looking for Cairine and Aine, too. Your trick worked, pissed him off. I don’t think Liam’s said anything.”
Dorjan’s nose quivers. He jerks towards Rose House. “Keller’s coming back. With company.”
“Dammit!”
“The Pits is no place to go alone, but if Rose House told you he’s down there, then Bearnard couldn’t have taken him too deep. Stay safe.”
Charlotte makes a few wild grabs at the raspberry bush with the hem of her shirt as an impromptu basket. “What about Liam?”
“Charlotte, you out here?”
Dorjan and Charlotte lock eyes. “Go,” she mouths.
But the mischievous sparkle in Dorjan’s green eye says otherwise. He takes off his coat and leans against the tree. “She’s busy,” he says with a grin that tells Charlotte he’s been looking forward to a few games himself.
Oooo-kay, here we go. “Picking raspberries!” she says with a mouthful of the fruit.
A moment later Keller bursts through the foliage with blanched face. He slides into the space between Charlotte and Dorjan. “What are you doing here, and what are you doing here?” His finger may as well be a dagger for the way he points it at Dorjan’s chest.
“Got some bloody nerve, he does. Fucking Durants.” Vincent slinks in, chestnut hair knotted into a ponytail that emphasizes the sharp features of his cheekbones and chin. He’s taller than any of them, so when he slides up to Charlotte, he towers over her. “You’re a ni
ce piece of meat, though.”
Charlotte stuffs her mouth with raspberries. “Thaff.” She emphasizes the thhh for extra raspberry spittle on Vincent’s hoity-toity designer shirt.
“I’ve been a terrible influence on her,” Dorjan says smoothly. “Got my table manners and everything.”
Keller checks Charlotte over. She gives an open smile with a mouthful of raspberries. “Y-yeah. I see that.”
“Folks around? I need a word.”
Keller doesn’t answer. No time, anyway.
With a jab and a grunt and a Hey nonny nonny, Vincent tumbles to the ground, his slick threads now grass stained. Such a pity. “Who the fuck do you think you are, meat?” He says to Charltote, teeth bared.
Charlotte spits her raspberries onto his pants. “Grab my ass again and I’ll show you.”
Dorjan starts sliding out. “I’ll just pop in and say hi.”
Keller practically spins around trying to keep everyone in place. “Hold on, hold—” he grabs Vincent by the shirt collar and boxes his ears. “I told you not to touch her. And you.” Keller unsheathes his blood dagger, and this point is very lethal, very sharp, very real against Dorjan’s thin cotton shirt. “You just pop yourself right back over that Wall. You,” he points with his finger at Charlotte before she can get any closer, “stay out of this. This is family business.”
“You want to kill me? For what, family honor?” Dorjan hooks his coat over his shoulder. “You must be joking.”
Another shhhnk: Vincent stands with his own blood dagger, short and wide with single deep gouges crossing the blade in an erratic pattern. “Keller never jokes, mate.”
Dorjan sneers but doesn’t respond. “They can’t put a price on my head for stabbing their son if their son is no longer stabbed.”
