Wracked with sobs, she made her way through a smattering of trees to the drop-off that overlooked Seelie Lake. A traditional place of mourning, it was called Lover’s Leap, and though she had often heard people crying there, it was her first and only time at the edge. She sank to her knees and wept. A moment or so later, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked up to see the duke. She wiped her eyes, and gingerly, he helped her to her feet.
“It was good of you to come,” she said, trying to pull herself together.
“Your father tells me this place is called Lover’s Leap,” he said. “I assume it’s called so because lovers throw themselves off it after the death of their mate with some regularity.”
“Yes,” Rowan said, wiping her eyes. “That’s why, and yet, I don’t know that anyone has ever really done it.”
“Really?” the duke asked, looking down at the ice-covered lake below them. “But it would be such a romantic gesture. I almost want to try it myself. I think I would if I weren’t sure to break my neck and drown.”
“They used to say there were water nixies in Seelie Lake,” Rowan said, smoothing her skirts. “Tom’s grandmother told him they were real, and when we were little, we believed her. She said they only came out at night, so how would we know the difference? It’s strange to grow up and realize that so much of what you believed was a lie.”
The duke sighed. “The pain will ease,” he said. “With time, it will ease.”
“I imagine you don’t have nixie stories in the palace city,” she said, trying to smile, grateful for his company.
He shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard them. I spent my childhood among the mountain folk, and the old grannies used to warn us to stay out of the water at night if we didn’t want the nixies to eat us alive.”
Surprised, she furrowed her brow. “How does a duke end up in the mountains?”
“Ah,” he said, sighing, suddenly sheepish. “It’s a long story. I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”
“But I do,” she said, looking up at him seriously, and after he considered her a moment, his shoulders fell.
“Fine. You know what a vicoreille is, right?”
Rowan nodded. The vicoreille was the advisor to the king—only, Rowan knew that in some sense the vicoreille held even more power than the king, for it was within the vicoreille’s right to veto any law, although he seldom did. He usually served more as a religious figure, advising the king in spiritual matters, for his name meant “in place of the ear,” and it was said that his was the only ear in the kingdom into which the sea god spoke.
“Well, my grandfather was the vicoreille to King Clement the Third.”
Rowan tried to hide how impressed she was. The brother of the queen was one thing; the grandson of a vicoreille was quite another.
“Now, it so happened that my father’s sister was quite beautiful, and the king decided he wanted to retire his first wife and marry my aunt. My grandfather refused, for my aunt despised the king. I don’t know what you’ve heard about him up here in the mountains, but he was an awful, bloodthirsty man. Angered by the rejection, he had my aunt dragged through the streets and slaughtered in front of my grandfather. When my grandfather moved to stop the violence, the king had him ejected from the palace city. Our family was exiled to the mountains.”
“That’s awful,” Rowan said, sick to her stomach at the thought. “How was it that you came to return to the palace city, and your sister to the throne, no less?”
He nodded. “When Lucius the Fourth came of age after his father died under, shall we say, questionable circumstances, and thank the sea god for that, my grandfather was pardoned and our family was brought back to the city. Lucius the Fourth had loved my grandfather and wanted to right the wrong his father had done, and so as a gesture of friendship, an offer was made to wed his son to my sister.”
Rowan sighed, his family’s tragedy heavy upon her chest. “I’m so very sorry.”
He nodded. “But those years in the mountains taught me humility. They taught me kindness. That’s why when Merrilee was brought to court—her parents were criminals; they had murdered a soldier for his gold, and the child was to be put in a workhouse—I couldn’t let that happen. In her eyes, in that sorrow, I saw my grandfather, my family, and I agreed to take her on as my ward.”
“She’s a good child,” Rowan said, ashamed of the way she had yelled at her after the incident with the vase. “I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings. I’m afraid I ruined any chance we might have had at a friendship.”
The duke smiled. “I’m sure she will forgive you. She thinks the world of you.”
“Really?” Rowan asked, surprised. “She does?”
The duke nodded and moved to speak again, but just then, Rowan heard her father call out from behind them. The ceremony was over. It was time to head back. A village meeting was in progress over at the inn. Usually such affairs were for men only, but Rowan accompanied her father and the duke, hoping they wouldn’t dissuade her from coming, and was pleased when they didn’t. Her father wasn’t feeling well, and he excused himself when they passed their home, but the duke was eager for Rowan to come along.
When the two of them reached the inn, Rowan was surprised to see Jude standing out front.
He called to her, and when the duke continued inside, she reluctantly went to speak with him.
“What is it, Jude?”
“You don’t want to go in there,” he said.
“I don’t?” she laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Since when have you been the arbiter of what I do and don’t want?”
“It’s about organizing another hunt,” he said. “It’s just Goi Tate yelling over everyone.”
“When isn’t Goi Tate yelling over everyone? Thank you for your concern, Jude, but I trust I will be fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug.
Rowan walked past him and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, she found a large group of men in the midst of a fierce debate.
“This thing has taken three from our village. We have to go out again,” Goi Tate was saying, his face red with anger. “I’ll not be held hostage in my own home.”
Paer Jorgen nodded, his calm exterior a salve to the fury that surrounded him. “I understand your concerns. Since the duke has agreed to stay as the king’s representative and lead the investigation, I think it’s best to let him speak now.”
“Please, gentlemen,” the duke said from his position near the bar. “You must understand. This situation is a unique one. I urge you not to get carried away.”
“Carried away?” Goi Tate said, crushing his fists into the table before him. “This thing, whatever it is, has taken lives. What’s more, it’s somehow gotten through the village barrier. The situation is dire. Whatever it is, we need to chop its head off and burn it, is what we need.”
A roar of approval sounded when he had finished.
“I wonder,” Rowan spoke up, but she could not be heard above the din. However, the duke flashed her a warm smile, then raised his hand to quiet the others.
“Please, everyone,” he said. “The lady wishes to speak.”
Clearing her throat, Rowan stepped forward. “I wonder,” she said. “I wonder if we’re hunting a monster at all. Goi Tate makes a good point. Arlene’s and Emily’s deaths were not like the others. They died in their homes—in their beds. I think we need to examine all possibilities.” Noticing that the men were beginning to take her seriously, she grew confident and began to speak with more authority. “So we have the first deaths up on Beggar’s Drift. Five men dead—one with his eyes and tongue gouged out, the others mysteriously dead after exposure to the elements. At the time, we wondered if it might be the work of a large predator—a wolf, many of us assumed. Next we had the strange case of my cousin’s death. The girl was wandering about in the woods at night—unusual circumstances, to be sure. Few dare go into the woods at night during our best of times, and yet there she was, alone and wandering
through the trees, when a beast struck her. As I’m sure you all know, it tore out her heart. So now we have two similar crimes, although not exactly the same, but what links them is their locations. Fiona Eira in the forest, and the men up in the mountains, they were all beyond the village boundary, out in the wilds and far from their homes. But Arlene’s death, and my Emily’s death, do not seem to match the others.”
“Why are we listening to this chatter from a woman—and a child at that,” groaned Goi Tate. “We need to get out there and find the beast. Chop off its head.”
The duke raised his hand to silence the man. “Let her speak. Please, Rowan, go on.”
“I think we need to separate the deaths based on their execution,” she continued, her palms beginning to sweat. “We have two sets of attacks that were violently bloody in nature and carried out in the wilds. Then we have two more attacks that were quite different in nature. These took place within the village boundary, behind locked bedroom doors, and the attacks themselves were almost … neat. I saw the scenes myself. There was very little blood about because, well, because it seemed the victims had been drained of it.”
The duke looked at her, something dawning in his eyes.
“So you think this might be the work of two separate perpetrators?” he asked.
“I don’t think you should rule it out. Moreover, I think we need to look into the possibility …,” Rowan started, but suddenly, all eyes upon her, the words seemed too awful to say out loud.
“What is it?” prodded Paer Jorgen. “Speak, child.”
“I just wonder if this second set of deaths was caused by something else—if it was the work of a person—of one of us.”
Paer Jorgen seemed to seriously consider her question, and the room fell into silence, but a moment later, Goi Tate burst into laughter.
“A man who can walk through walls?” he mocked. “I forgot to tell everyone, that just happens to be one of my talents. Should have mentioned it.”
Soon the others joined in with their laughter, and Rowan, annoyed, looked to the duke, who was staring at her intently but also seemed somehow miles away. Clearly, he had been struck by what she’d said. She met his eyes, and he nodded at her but was too lost in his thoughts to quiet the others. Frustrated, Rowan crossed her arms in front of her chest as Goi Tate went on, rising up to his full height as he spoke.
“People, we need to take action. There’s something living in these woods. It’s preying on our people, and it must be stopped.”
Wilhelm spoke up, his voice hesitant. “I agree with Goi Tate. This thing, whatever it is, it must be stopped before it kills again. Whatever risk we take going out there is small in comparison to doing nothing in the face of this bloodshed.”
“Easy enough to say when one of your own boys refuses to join the hunt,” Tak Carlysle said.
Draeden Faez stroked his beard. “I must say, your son’s reticence to join surprises me,” he said.
Wilhelm looked shaken. “He’s not been well, my boy. He’s … not been well.”
Rowan saw a few of the men exchange looks, and she fought back her growing anxiety. Surely they couldn’t think Tom could have anything to do with the killings.
“And where was he again when Fiona Eira was murdered?” asked Goi Tate pointedly.
Wilhelm flushed a violent shade of red. “He was here at home. I … sent him out to gather firewood, and that’s when he heard the scream.”
“It’s interesting, though, isn’t it,” Goi Tate continued, looking away from the older man. “That he happened to be the first to find the body, and now he seems to be losing himself to some mystery illness such that he’s not content to join us in the hunt.”
“What are you suggesting?” Wilhelm practically growled, starting across the room toward Goi Tate, but the duke held his hand against the man’s chest, stopping him.
Rowan stood frozen, watching the scene as if it were taking place somewhere very far away.
The duke cleared his throat. “Goi Tate is making inappropriate suggestions. Your boy has had a shock. If he is unfit to hunt, then it is best that he stay home. This is not a forced labor, and we’ve numbers enough as it is. So,” he said, clapping and looking around the room. “The beast seems to strike at nightfall, and that is when we shall hunt it. Let us hope we will have better luck this evening.”
But they did not. Fifteen men, combing the woods in pairs until the early hours, did not find so much as a ground squirrel. It was as if the entire forest had gone into hiding. If there was a beast living in their woods, it was not going to make itself easy to find.
There was a moment, though, when Wilhelm, shotgun in hand, had a strange sensation. He was standing near an ancient yew tree, the kind his mother used to say was home to fairy hollows, when he was certain he felt movement beneath his feet, and for an instant, he nearly thought he heard Tom’s voice. Distant, muffled, but Tom nonetheless. His entire body froze and his heart raced, and then, quickly, he pulled himself out of his trance and hurried away from the tree.
The next day, Rowan was in the kitchen, pulling a tray of scones from the oven, when she noticed the duke leaning against the far wall.
“Thank you,” she said, and after setting down the tray, she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Thank you for defending Tom like you did at the tavern.”
“A mob of frightened men is a dangerous thing,” he said. “They are like a pack of wild animals, and often they choose to sacrifice the injured of their herd.”
She looked to him with pained eyes. “Tom couldn’t have had anything to do with any of this. He’s a good boy. There is no one kinder. You don’t suspect him, do you?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. The boy has had a shock is all. I’ll do my best to help your fellow villagers see as much. Unfortunately, the gentle people of Nag’s End do not share your love of logical inquiry.”
His words made Rowan think of Goi Tate and Onsie Best, and she couldn’t help but laugh, and when she did, the duke joined her.
“Ah, Rowan,” he sighed. “How I wish I could take you with me to the palace city, and here you go and spoil it all by marrying a soulful village lad.”
Feeling a blush rising in her cheek, she lined a basket with a towel for the scones. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have been as much help as you suppose.”
“Tell me,” he said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “How are you doing? It seems to me your grief hangs heavy on you, my friend.”
Turning back around, she met sympathetic eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m trying to carry on with things. I reckon I’m a bit less of a mess than I was at the start. I just wish …,” she began to say, but then she shook her head, and turning back to her scones, she began placing them in the basket.
“Please,” he said. “Go on. You can speak freely.”
Suddenly, on the verge of tears, she gave in. It would feel so good to have someone to talk to again. “It’s just sometimes I wish I could get away from it all—from the grief, from the village.”
“Ah, but there is,” he said, rising, his warm gaze upon her. “You could come to the palace city with me as originally planned.”
Rowan laughed, flustered. “You know I can’t do that. My father’s given my twine. I’m bound, and Tom isn’t the kind who strays far from home.”
Sighing, he said, “I fear this is all my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father and I spoke about you coming to work with me, and I’m afraid he took it rather badly.”
“He didn’t seem pleased when I suggested it either. I can’t understand it, because it’s been his dream to return to the palace city.”
“I know,” he said. “He’s made that clear for quite some time.”
“He has?”
“Indeed, but I didn’t really see a point. Your father is a diligent man, but he’s not exceptional—not like you, Rowan. His kind of intelligence is like a sponge. It absorbs. It doesn’t
create. Your kind of intelligence is generative. It’s much more exquisite. You’re a rare bloom.”
“Please,” she said with a scowl. “You praise me and insult my father in a single breath.”
“I’m sorry. I misspoke. I only mean to say that I am extremely eager to work with you, and I’m afraid your father might have misunderstood my intentions with you.”
Rowan raised her eyebrows, unsure she wanted to hear more. And yet the duke went on. “Here’s the thing, Rowan: I don’t think you’re going to be happy here. I think this marriage might be the death of you.”
Rowan took a step away, but he only moved closer, taking her hands in his. “Come with me to the palace city, Rowan. Take a butcher’s knife and slice off that hideous bracelet, and come to the palace city with me.”
Stunned, she shook her head. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. It would be against the law.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. “The law? Do you think provincial law matters when a member of the royal family is involved? Do you think we can’t just take what we want whenever we want it?”
She grew cold. It seemed to her that this was a threat. “Please,” she said firmly. “Please stop. I don’t think I like where this is going. I’m to be married. If I disappear into the night with you, I’ll look like—”
“If you’re going to be conventional about it, I’ll marry you if you like,” he said, his eyes flashing, a strange, nearly mad smile on his face, and her heart contracted as much from fear as from flattery.
“Marry you?” Shocked, she pulled her hands away from his as if they were on fire. “But I don’t love you.”
He laughed, his grin growing even more odd. “I don’t love you either, but I imagine it would sort itself out eventually. In the meantime, I could show you a world that would shock and delight you. I would shower you in jewels, and you … you would help me.”
The Glass Casket Page 16
