She squeezed his hand.
“Oh really? You think you are an honorable person?” Jared asked.
Nova squeezed his hand once more.
Jared shook his head. “Either your guilt or the fact your evil deeds were successfully concluded prompted you to take your own life. That’s not my idea of honorable.”
Nova’s hand remained limp. Did her failure to respond mean she took issue with him? Or was this a show of defiance, even so very close to death?
“You jumped, Nova!” he said, feeling a certain exasperation.
Still, her hand remained limp. He realized that she was talking to him, but with her hand not her tongue. Jared’s head began to race.
“What are you trying to tell me? That you didn’t jump?”
A pronounced squeeze.
“Nova, I need to be sure about this. Are you telling me that you did not jump from the tower?”
Another squeeze—so tight he felt it might crush his bones. Think, he told himself. This could be a trick. She could be playing for time. And yet, something told him she wasn’t. He had to follow this, wherever it took them.
“Nova, did someone push you off the tower?”
She gripped his hand again. His insides flushed ice-cold
“They did! Did you see who it was?”
Again, a squeeze.
“Are you sure you don’t need me?” Hal called from outside. Had he overheard their strange conversation?
“No, Hal,” Jared called back. “Wait right there. I’ll be out very soon.”
“Yes, your highness.”
Jared turned back to Nova. He could feel his blood coursing through his body, his heart pumping with expectation. If she was saying she hadn’t jumped but had been pushed, did that mean that she hadn’t killed Anders and Silva? How did that square with what Nova had told Asta? Could she have been guilty of an illicit relationship with his brother—but only of that? He knew he’d have to work that out later. Time was of the essence.
“Nova, squeeze my hand if the person who pushed you was one of the Council of Twelve.”
Her hand remained still. So, they had been wrong. It wasn’t one of the…
But then came the squeeze. Softer than before, but still a squeeze. Why softer? Was she losing strength? He should send for Elias. But he couldn’t leave it at this. Not now. Should he send Hal to fetch Elias? No, it was too dangerous to risk his own protection—especially if the true assassin was still at large.
“Nova, I know you don’t have much strength left. I need to know the truth. You owe me that. You owe Anders… Squeeze my hand if the person who pushed you was one of the Twelve.”
This time, she squeezed back immediately.
Jared let out a breath. “All right,” he said, filled with fresh frustration. “How the hell are we going to do this? You can’t speak and your eyes are tight shut. I guess there’s no other way…” He lowered his voice. “Nova, squeeze my hand if it was Hal Harness who pushed you.”
Her hand remained still.
“Nova, just so I know you still can, squeeze my hand again.”
She did so—a small but discernible movement.
“All right, so it wasn’t Hal. Was it Jonas Drummond?”
He waited but she did not move her hand.
“Not Jonas either. Was it Kai Jagger?”
Still no squeeze. That put three members of the Twelve in the clear—four counting Nova herself. Assuming she was to be believed. Jared took a breath, thinking fast. Who else had been on his brother’s final hunting trip?
“Lucas Curzon?”
No squeeze.
“Nova, was it Axel?”
He felt her hand begin to move. But it wasn’t a squeeze as such. And then her hand separated from his and fell limply onto her body.
“Nova!” he cried, more loudly than he had intended. “Nova! Can you hear me?” He reached for her hand again but it was now as limp as a ragdoll’s. Their time had run out.
“Hal!” he called, urgently. “Hal, get in here!”
His cry hadn’t even faded before Hal had joined him inside the chamber.
“I need you to fetch Elias,” Jared told his bodyguard. “Bring him here. Tell him Nova’s alive but do not tell anyone—not anyone—else about this. Do you understand?”
Hal nodded, “You can trust me, Prince Jared.”
Jared’s eyes met his bodyguard’s. “I hope I can,” he said. “For all our sakes.”
DAY SIX
THIRTY-EIGHT
The Prince’s Dressing Chamber
JARED TOOK A DEEP BREATH, THEN LIFTED THE black cloth off the mirror in his dressing chamber. Let the mirror try to claim his soul—with everything else that had happened in the past few days, it might be a blessed release. He folded the cloth into a tight bundle, placed it on top of the dressing table, then turned back to face the looking glass.
He barely recognized the visage, that met his gaze, in the mirror. In less than a week, his face had become lean, bordering on gaunt; the events beginning with his brother’s assassination had chiseled away at his flesh with the dexterity of a sculptor. He looked older and not in a good way. Maybe it was fatigue, pure and simple. He had gone to bed late, after the surreal interlude with Nova and the tense evening that had followed with Queen Francesca and the Woodlark delegation. And though he’d been grateful beyond belief to finally bury himself under the covers, his sleep had been thwarted by racing thoughts of the assassin, stalking the palace corridors. At one point, he had bolted upright in bed to find himself drenched in sweat, having dreamed of the savage beasts his brother had supposedly seen before his own death. It felt like an omen. All things considered, it was not the perfect preparation for his brother’s funeral procession.
He thought again of Nova. The Physician was with her now. Elias had sent a messenger to inform him that the Falconer had slipped back into unconsciousness. She had to make it out of this alive. Somebody had to. There had been much too much death in the court. Filled with a sudden sadness, Jared closed his eyes and said a prayer for Nova. When he opened his eyes again, they were wet. It was too early in the day for tears. He swallowed down the emotion and wiped his eyes dry again. His mother would have been so very proud.
Jared purposefully disconnected from his own dispiriting gaze and turned his attention to his funeral coat, brushing a stray dog hair from its sleeve. In the mirror of his armoire, he could see the reflection of a small bureau, that nestled against the wall of his dressing room. On its mahogany surface lay the sheet of paper bearing Nova’s list. That list was the one thing that gave him hope. It seemed to him the one sign that they might be making progress and that, with thought and logic, they might confront the looming chaos.
His thoughts were interrupted by an urgent knocking at the chamber door.
“Who’s there?” he called, bracing himself for the next piece of bad news.
“It’s me,” Asta called out. Of course, Jared thought, his mood instantly lifting—he had asked her to come the night before.
Jared smiled to see Asta’s reflection in the mirror as she entered his dressing room. For an instant, the door was ajar and the mirrored door of the armoire revealed Hal, standing guard at the entrance. It was a reassuring sight—all the more so, since Hal’s name had been the first to be crossed off Nova’s list.
The sight of Hal’s hulking body was lost to him as the chamber door closed. Jared and Asta were alone. He turned from the mirror, but found that looking into Asta’s face an experience to not dissimilar to seeing his own reflection. She too looked shattered, tired and pale. In spite of this, she managed to raise a smile.
In spite of this, she managed to raise a smile. “You look very handsome,” she said. “If that isn’t an inappropriate thing to say.”
“Because I’m dressed for my brother’s funeral?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Because you’re the Prince and I’m… well, I’m just a girl from the settlements.”
“Asta,�
�� Jared said, walking toward her. “You’re my… friend. You’re one of the very few people I can trust around here. That means a lot to me.” He surprised them both by hugging her. Her skin was cool to the touch, like marble. He drew back, disconcerted.
“Are you all right?” he asked, thinking again how tired she looked.
“I’m fine.” As she spoke, she started to walk away but stumbled. They were self-evidently not the movements of someone who was well
Jared pulled over one of his broad-backed dressing room chairs. “I think you should sit down.” He expected her to protest but, to his surprise, she nodded gratefully and did as he suggested.
“I have something important to tell you,” he said.
Asta’s cool gray eyes met his own expectantly.
“Nova Chastain did not jump from the tower,” he said. “She was pushed.”
Her eyes widened. “What? How do you know this?”
“I know because the Falconer is alive.”
“No!” Asta gasped. “That’s not possible, is it? Where is she?”
“She’s in you’re a makeshift surgery, set up by your uncle at the palace. He’s under strict instructions not to tell anyone else about this. For selfish reasons, I wanted to tell you myself, though I half suspected that he’d have told you, or that you would have found out by now.”
Asta shook her head. “That explains why he was up earlier than usual this morning,” she said slowly. He left me a note, but no explanation as to where he had gone. The next thing I knew, I received word that you wanted to see me.”
“That’s good,” Jared said, relieved that, so far at least, the plan was working.
“Nova was pushed?” Asta shook her head. “That can’t be right! She killed Anders and Silva, and then tried to take her own life! She had the motive and opportunity for both the murders. Everything points to her. I wouldn’t use the term ‘mad’ loosely, Prince Jared, but I really do think she is mad. You should have seen the way she reacted when I visited her quarters. I’m sorry but, whatever she’s told you now, I don’t think you can take it at face value.”
Jared frowned. “I know it blows a hole in your theory,” he said. “But I think we’ve got to entertain the thought she could be telling the truth.” He could see from Asta’s expression that she remained unconvinced.
“Did she tell you who pushed her?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “But she helped narrow down the range of suspects.”
“How?”
“I asked Nova if she jumped from the tower or if someone pushed her. She was too weak to speak but she squeezed my hand to answer my questions.”
“She squeezed your hand?” Asta shook her head again. “Does she know who pushed her?”
He nodded. “It was one of the Council of Twelve.”
Asta looked fit to burst. “Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me who it is!”
Jared wished it were as simple as that and that he had a definite answer for his companion. He knew that, next to him, no one else was as intent upon learning the truth about the multiple murder plot. Only a day earlier, Asta had risked her own life by jumping in the freezing river. He had a sudden thought. Was that why her skin was so cold now?
“Who is it?” Her question cut through his reverie.
“I’m afraid we don’t know. Not yet.” He picked up the list from the bureau and offered it to Asta. “But we do know who it wasn’t. As I say, Nova managed to squeeze my hand and, in doing so, I was able to eliminate these names.”
Asta glanced down at the list, seeing the names of the remaining eleven members of the Council, written in Jared’s neat script. Four names had been struck through—Hal Harness, Lucas Curzon, Jonas Drummond and Kai Jagger.
Asta lifted her eyes back to Jared. “So, if we believe Nova is telling the truth—and it’s a big if as far as I’m concerned—then there are seven suspects remaining.”
Jared nodded.
“Father Simeon. Logan Wilde.” She took a breath. “Elias Peck. Emelie Sands.”
“I suppose we could cross Emelie off too,” Jared said. “You talked to her and ruled her out before.”
Asta came back at him, sharp as a tack. “I ruled her out of being Anders’s lover and therefore of having no motive for a crime of passion. But, if we accept that Nova wasn’t the killer, then we also have to accept that we’re probably not dealing with a crime of passion at all.”
“Of course, you’re right.” He realized how much he needed Asta to get to the heart of things. He had cockily thought he had made great progress on his own but it was only now that they were together that he was starting to appreciate that the task ahead of them was still huge and daunting.
“If Nova is telling the truth,” Asta continued, “then she was set up to look like the murderer. And whoever is really behind the murders wanted us to think it was a crime of passion. Or”—she frowned—“I led us down a blind alley with the notion of this being about Anders and his secret lover.”
“Don’t take the sole blame for that,” Jared said. “You and I came to these conclusions together. And if we went down the wrong path, it was only because someone made it all too easy for us to go there. But maybe now we’re finally getting to the truth.”
“Or else Nova is a dangerous lunatic who failed to kill herself and is now changing her story in order to save her own skin.”
Jared refused to believe this. He had talked to Nova. All right, so she hadn’t talked as such but somehow he knew she was telling the truth. After all, at this point, what did she have to gain by lying? “Please read out the remaining names on the list,” he requested.
“Vera Webb. Morgan Booth. And, last but not least, Axel Blaxland.” She caught Jared’s expression as she read Axel’s name. “Why are you frowning? You don’t want to believe it could be Axel?”
Jared shrugged. “I don’t want to believe it could be any one of them, but it’s hard to think otherwise now. No, I frowned because Axel’s was the last name I put to Nova before she became too weak to continue. Her hand moved slightly when I said his name but I couldn’t be sure if she was actually squeezing my hand or not.”
Asta tapped the page. “Then Axel definitely stays on the list.” Her eyes remained on it, her expression grim. “You’d have thought we’d have whittled it down to fewer than seven suspects by now, wouldn’t you?”
“When I questioned Nova, I started with who we knew formed the hunting party when Anders was wounded. That list included Elliot Nash, Axel’s deputy, but as he’s not one of the Twelve, we can rule him out.” Jared paused. “I wonder if we should also discount Father Simeon,” he offered. “He does seems an unlikely murderer. In fact, we could rule out several of the names. Vera Webb, for instance…”
“No!” Asta exclaimed. “We can’t eliminate anyone from this list until we talk to Nova again—assuming she recovers sufficiently to offer us that chance—or we find conclusive proof that it wasn’t them. We can’t make choices based on instinct or what we believe to be true. If we’ve learned one thing from this investigation, it’s that whoever is behind the murders knows plenty about smoke and mirrors.”
Jared nodded. “You’re right.” He sighed. “I’m afraid we are back to square one.”
Asta glanced up. “Maybe it’s not that bad. Tell me, who else knows that Nova survived the fall?”
At least he had a concrete answer to that one. “The only people who know she survived the fall are Elias and Hal—Hal helped your uncle take her away. They used the tunnel from Axel’s village residence to the palace.”
“Then, surely, doesn’t Axel know too?”
Jared shook his head. “He wasn’t there. He was with me, with Silva’s family.”
Asta nodded, clearly deep in thought. Jared watched as she rose from her chair and began pacing about his dressing chamber.
“You and Axel were on the way to solving these murders—on the basis that they were politically motivated. But then I waded in and persuaded you it was
all about your brother’s tangled love life. I’m so sorry, Prince Jared. I’ve wasted so much time and I’m responsible for Nova’s terrible injuries.” She shuddered. “I could easily have been responsible for her death.”
“Nova’s alive,” Jared said. “That’s what matters. Things are grim enough as it is—we can’t start blaming ourselves for things which have not yet happened.”
Jared saw a fresh wave of tiredness cross Asta’s features. He knew that, just as he had been fueled by adrenaline, so too had she. And he could sense that they were both now very close to running on empty. He watched as she sat back down in her chair suddenly. Indeed, she did not so much sit as slump. She closed her eyes and lifted her hand to her temples.
Worried, he knelt down at her side.
“Are you sure you are all right?” he inquired.
For a moment, she did not say anything. This in itself concerned him. Then she opened her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve got a splitting headache.”
Jared frowned, placing his own hand on her head.
Asta cried out as if he’d hurt her. “Your skin is so hot!”
“Your skin feels very cold,” Jared said, alarm spreading through him. “I don’t think you have a headache from mental exertion. Asta, I think your body is still in shock from when you were caught in the rapids. Do you think you might have caught something?”
Asta waved her hand dismissively. “I might have mild hypothermia, I suppose. All I know is I’m just so hot.” She began fanning herself with her hand.
Jared shook his head. “Asta, we need to get you back to your uncle. You’re burning up.” He was filled with panic. “It could be serious. We need Elias…”
She shook her head, her eyes glazing over. “You have a funeral to get to and I’ll be fine if I just rest. It’s not a long walk back to the village.”
He frowned. “You’re in no condition to walk anywhere.” He glanced at the clock. They were running out of time. In a matter of minutes, he was due to join the others for the funeral procession. “Anyway, I don’t want you walking anywhere unescorted. We’ve got to accept that the murderer knows you’ve been helping me with the investigation. And that means that you’re in the line of danger now, too.”
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