by Megan Derr
"What's wrong, Gael?" Noire asked.
Gael took his hand and led him to the door, throwing discretion aside as he unlocked it and yanked it open. "Etain says there's been another." Noire did not bother to ask another what, as they both knew full well Etain could only mean the White Eagle.
Where are you? Gael asked.
The Crystal room, it looks like he was meeting someone.
Gael did not ask further question, simply let go of Noire's hand as they returned to the main hallway. They kept walking until they turned a corner at the opposite end, then walked halfway down that one until they reached the crystal room.
Candlelight sparkled off the profusion of crystal decorations that gave the parlor its name. Slumped in a chair, eyes closed, was Lord Lyall, the White Wolf. Freddie stood beside him, combing through his hair, face etched with worry and a touch of fear. She looked up as they entered. "Exactly like Elianne. That is two Beasts. We cannot assume this is a personal matter regarding the Eagle."
Gael nodded his agreement. "Where is Lord Ailill?"
"Still at Elianne's estate," Freddie replied.
"Then he must be recalled at once and given this new information." Gael looked around the room, taking in all the details, hoping for some clue: a tray of wine; two glasses, one half-full, the other lying on the floor by Lord Lyall's feet. So that was the likely method of delivery for the poison. But what poison? Gael crossed the room and picked up the glass, licking the inside of it—but all he tasted was the residue of wine.
Setting the glass on the table, he stood up. "Who found him?"
"Etain," Freddie said with a sigh. "You know she always sneaks off here halfway through the party. She found him just sitting here. Came and found me. We looked briefly for you ... "
Gael shook his head. "Sorry, I slipped out for a reprieve of my own. At least nobody else found him." He sighed. "We will have to tell the other Beasts now."
Freddie nodded in agreement. "Let us recall Ailill first and see if he has learned anything knew. The more information we have before we announce what is going on, the better. Curse it!"
"Where is Etain?"
"She went back to the ball so nobody would notice all of the Triad was missing," Freddie said. "We need to get to get him to the Sanctuary."
Gael nodded. "Clear the way, and I will take him."
Freddie slipped away without a word, and Gael lifted Lyall up in his arms. "I do not understand what is going on," he said softly. "Nobody should be able to do this to a Beast. Why would somebody jeopardize the ceremony? We only get one chance a century to set all to rights and this will be the ninth failure ... "
He tried to fight back the anguish, the fear, but in light of his recent conversation with Noire, the emotions just turned to bile in the back of his throat. He did not want to die and yet the ceremony already seemed doomed to failure.
"Gael ... " Noire said softly, looking at him with concern. He stepped closer, lifting a hand—and let it drop, pulling back, as the door opened and Freddie jerked her head at them.
Not looking at Noire, knowing he would not be able to hide everything he was feeling, Gael followed Freddie out of the room and down the hall, using the servants' halls to make their way to the Sanctuary. When they reached it, he motioned for Noire to join them again.
He arranged Lyall in the grass, a few paces away from Elianne and angled so that, like her, he was directly in line with the Great Oak. Standing, he turned toward Noire and Freddie. "Voice, head immediately for Lady Elianne's estate and fetch home Lord Ailill. Tell him all that has—" Gael broke off as a sharp, piercing pain jabbed in the center of his forehead, then spread out into a pounding headache.
Trying to will away the pain, he focused on the sudden thought that clanged around in his head. It seemed too cynical, to horrible, to be true, but the more he tried to fight it the more it stuck. Maybe his subconscious knew something he did not.
"What's wrong?" Freddie asked.
"Who has no desire to be here? Who would benefit from the ceremony failing? We specifically appointed Ailill to the task of the murders because he has been gone so long that he is somewhat apart from his peers ... "
Freddie and Noire both gaped at him, and then Freddie shifted to a scowl and said, "You cannot suggest that the Beasts would turn on each other so? It is true Ailill does not like being a White Beast, but I cannot see him resorting to being a murderer. Not like this."
"No, I don't think he would," Gael said. "But I think he was gone a long time and returned to us poisoned by shadow magic. I purified him, but what if we missed something? What if the corruption runs deeper than that? For that matter, we do not know if perhaps one of the other Beasts has been corrupted somehow. It would explain why anyone at all is able to poison them so successfully."
"I wish I could argue with that," Freddie said with a sigh. "Do you really think Schatten could be involved?"
"I think it is worth investigating," Gael said. "If we interview all the Beasts and Etain quietly examines them, that should tell us. We were never looking for it before, so it could have been hidden right in front of us all this time."
Freddie made a face. "That is a terrifying thought."
Gael's nodded in agreement, mouth set in a grim line. "If I'm correct, that means Ailill is the likeliest to be corrupted, since he did come into direct contact with shadow magic. Noire, you are friends with the White Panther. Can you put your duty first?"
Hurt flickered across Noire's face, mingled with a flash of anger. But he only dropped smoothly to one knee and bowed his head. "I have given my vows, your highness. My loyalty to the Triad, my love to the Triad, my voice to them, to speak for them, and never to speak a word against them. I remain that loyal, that loving, that silent."
"I know," Gael said softly and lightly touched the top of his head, bidding him rise. "I am sorry to question your loyalty, Voice. Go and recall the White Panther. Tell him nothing. After he is returned to the city, we will call a meeting of all the Beasts. Say nothing to anyone and report to me anyone who asks you so much as a single question, no matter how harmless that question might seem."
Noire knelt and bowed his head again. "Yes, highness. Unless you've further instruction, I will depart now."
"Nothing further," Freddie said. "Go." The sound of the doors closing behind Noire echoed through the Sanctuary, seeming inordinately loud. "You cannot truly believe Ailill would turn on the others," Freddie said quietly, but with anger enough her voice trembled.
Gael shook his head, wishing his headache would abate. "I don't know. I would rather suggest it, eliminate it, and be certain. Let us face it, Freddie. We know nothing of the ceremony. We are reincarnations of these gods, but we retain no memories of past ceremonies. Nothing. In all the centuries past, not a single person has thought to record all the events, persons—anything at all—pertaining to the previous ceremonies? They are a complete mystery except that we three know the Beasts are fated to die with us."
He had a feeling that all their meticulously kept records would wind up the same—nonexistent, though he knew not why.
If they failed, the Beasts would die—and so would Noire, but only he knew of that. If they did not figure out how to make the ceremony succeed, then on the day of the ceremony sixteen people were going to die and an entire country was going to be left once more in ruins.
"So you think this is why the Beasts always die," Freddie said quietly. "That someone starts to ruin the ceremony this way. But why would they do that?"
"I don't know," Gael said. "Maybe whoever it is thinks we're better off not going through with the ceremony at all. I cannot fathom why. Let us hope we figure out the motive and the means before it is too late, and stop whoever is responsible. I cannot bear the thought of yet another Tragedy."
Freddie sighed and closed her eyes, and it was only because he knew her so well that Gael realized she was trying not to cry. Striding over to her, he held her tightly, just offering the simple comfort of one who un
derstood her pain.
Chapter Six: Dying Slowly
Noire was exhausted as he kept heading toward Lady Elianne's estate. After an entire day of running messages around the city, only the briefest nap before the ball, followed by the ball and his time in the parlor with Gael ...
Being extremely busy was not unusual. Most people thought the hardest part of being the Voice was not sharing all the secrets to which he must be privy. Noire found most secrets were easy to keep—the only secret that agonized him was his love for Gael.
No, the hardest part of being the Voice was the physical demands. Running all day, going with little to no sleep, and often being so busy that even food fell by the wayside. When he was finally able to hold still for a little while, he relished it.
He would have given anything to be allowed to fall into bed and not wake up for a week. But he pushed on, spurred by the way Gael had asked him if he would choose Gael or Ailill. And Gael probably had not meant it that way, but it had hurt all the same. The same way it hurt that Gael stayed with his sisters. The same way it hurt that Gael refused to tell the world about them for Noire's safety.
What would it take for Gael to trust him?
It was well into the afternoon of the next day when he finally reached the halfway point, but Noire kept going, pushing until he began to stumble more than run. He finally made himself stop when he reached the woods and a stream where he often stopped when he had more time. He drank the water greedily, uncaring that anyone who saw him would sneer at him for acting too much like a beast. What was the point in having their Triad-given forms, their gifts from the gods who loved them though they were still Lost, if they did not use them fully? He liked being a cat as much as he liked being human.
Thirst slaked, he stumbled over to an enormous tree, settled beneath it, and almost immediately fell asleep.
When he woke a few hours later, it was late evening. The light slipping through the trees was almost entirely gone, the absence of sunlight causing the air to grow chilly. Noire yawned, went to the stream for more water, and then resumed his journey.
The hour was late when he reached his destination, the air chilly, the moon and stars hidden by clouds that promised rain. Noire shifted and knocked on the door, fighting an urge to lean against it and fall asleep.
When it opened, he stared in surprise at the man in front of him. He was definitely no servant—he wasn't even from Verde. The stranger was tall, broad, and big; he looked like a fighter, despite his fancy clothes and neatly trimmed, if ruffled, hair. He had dark brown hair and gray eyes. A fire child. What in the name of the Triad was a child of Pozhar doing at Lady Elianne's house?
"You must be Noire," the man said, the cadence of his words slightly off. Definitely Pozhar, but not quite like all the other Pozhar visitors in the palace. It was like listening to an educated commoner rather than a noble—close, but not quite there.
Shaking himself, Noire drew back his shoulders and said, "I do not recall you giving your name, though you feel free to use mine."
Familiar laughter drifted out the door before the man could answer, though an amused smirk curved his mouth. Ailill appeared beside him. "Noire? What brings you here so late? You look ready to fall over."
Noire swept him a bow, afraid that if he knelt he would not be able to get up again. "Your grace, I have come to recall you to the palace. The Triad bids you return with all possible haste."
Ailill's smile of greeting faded into a look of concern. "No further message?" he asked.
Guilt twisted Noire's gut, but he had his duty, and he would rather die than disappoint Gael. "No, your grace."
"Oh, stop with all the formality," Ailill said, then reached out and grabbed his wrist to pull Noire into the house. He closed the door and continued to pull him along into a sitting room.
He pushed Noire down onto a sofa, turning to the other man, "Vanya, have someone bring tea and real food."
Vanya nodded and slipped out of the room. Ailill sat down next to Noire. "You look exhausted."
"I was ordered to reach you quickly," Noire said with a shrug. "We must leave—"
"We'll leave when you're fit for traveling," Ailill said. "Nothing will be accomplished by rendering you too tired to continue performing your duties, Voice. Eat, drink, rest, and then we will be on our way."
Noire opened his mouth to protest, but the words turned into a yawn. Ignoring Ailill's laughter, he finally managed to say, "You need not wait on me to depart, your grace—"
"If you call me 'your grace' one more time, Noire, I am going to put you to sleep and refuse to leave until the day after tomorrow."
"I'm doing my job."
"We're friends. You can do your job without being so formal. This is not like you, Noire. What's wrong?"
Noire winced and dropped his gaze to look at his hands. "Nothing," he said. "It's been a long journey and I'm tired. But the matter is urgent—"
"And yet you can tell me nothing about it. I suspect this ties in to the matter I am investigating and the matter has taken a turn for the worse—to the point that the Triad trusts no one, not even their Beasts."
"I have given my message; I can say no more."
Ailill squeezed his shoulder. "I would not expect you to, Noire. I am sorry. I am only thinking aloud." He looked up as the door opened, and Vanya came in bearing a tray laden with tea and food that made Noire's stomach growl.
Noire obediently stood as Ailill tugged him up and led him to the table. "Noire Chevalier, meet Ivan Mikhailovich Kozlov, the Duke of Vaklov."
"Your grace," Noire said and bowed.
"A pleasure to meet you," Ivan replied. "Ailill speaks highly of you. It cannot be easy, doing your job. Being nobility has been difficult enough just the two years I have been doing it. Being the one caught in the middle ... well, I admire you for doing it."
Noire flushed under the praise, surprised to hear his duties described in such a way. He had never thought about it like that—caught in the middle—but it fit. "It's an honor to serve in such a role," he replied.
"Well, I admire you saying so when you look ready to drop. I did not exhaust myself to that extent unless I was being paid very well indeed."
Ailill laughed. "Oh, is that why you tolerated me, mercenary? Because I paid well?"
Ivan gave him a look that was unmistakable. A look that made Noire ache because Gael only looked at him that way when no one else could see it. "For you, there were additional perks, and you know it."
"I do approve of giving perks where they're earned."
"There is nothing I can say to that without losing those perks, and so I shall say nothing," Ivan said, making Ailill laugh.
He laughed harder at Noire's confused expression and explained, "I believe his grace just called me a slut."
"I think that's what they say about most faerie children," Noire said with a faint smile.
"I rest my case," Ivan said with an easy grin. "Eat, little cat. We will go get our belongings gathered so we can leave before you start lashing your tail again." They left before he could reply, leaving him scowling at the door.
Little cat? That just made him think of 'kitten'. It was something people seemed to love calling him, no matter how old he got. He had always loathed it, the way it affected how people treated him.
Until Gael had said it right before he had kissed him the first time. He made the word intimate, special. Certainly Gael did not treat him as if he was fragile, but gave him everything he asked for and more. In bed, anyway.
Noire poured tea and helped himself to a bowl of soup and a small loaf of crusty bread. He refused to believe that Ailill was a murderer. Was he letting an old friendship sway him? Well, obviously he was—but he did not think he was wrong. Ailill would never kill other people for his own ends.
He didn't think Gael believed it either. He just wished he could help more, say something—just comfort Gael. But he couldn't, not until they managed to be safely alone. All because Gael refused to trust Noire
with his own life. He could take care of himself, and they would stand stronger together and open than as a secret.
His eyes blurred, and he angrily scrubbed at them. He was tired, that was the only reason he was being so stupid. He had kept the secret for three years; he could manage for the two and a half months remaining.
"Noire, what's wrong?"
Jerking and dropping his teacup, Noire reared back—and froze, relaxed and feeling stupid as he stared at Ailill and Ivan. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'm tired. Are we ready to depart?"
"No," Ailill said firmly, shoving his satchel at Ivan and striding up to Noire, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. "Noire, what's wrong?"
"I cannot discuss it," Noire said. "For all intents and purposes I am fine. Please," he added in a whisper.
Ailill made a rough, frustrated noise, but after squeezing his shoulders in reassurance, let him go. "Fine, but if you need someone to talk to, about anything, please come see me. I want to help, and I will take your secrets to my grave, I swear."
"It's not—thank you," Noire said. "We should be going."
"We're going, we're going," Ivan said lightly and handed Ailill's bag back to him.
Noire followed them outside, but stopped on the stairs with a frown. "A carriage?"
"Get in," Ailill said. "We will make it there as quickly as possible, I promise. But I am not leaving Vanya behind. If it were truly necessary for me to return within the hour, Freddie would have fetched me herself. If I am correct in my assumption that another Beast has fallen, arriving tomorrow night is sufficient. Now get in the carriage, or I will strap you to the top."
Scowling, Noire nevertheless obeyed. He hoped Gael would not be angry that it had taken him so long to fetch Ailill. "I'm going, I'm going," he groused as Ailill all but stuffed him into the carriage. He settled into one of the seats, staring at Ivan and Ailill together on the opposite and fighting an urge to go to sleep as the carriage started moving. "So how do you come to visit Verde, your grace? If you do not mind my asking."
