by Lyra Evans
Her words fell off abruptly as she noticed Oliver and Connor standing behind Maeve. Instinct made Oliver want to smile, to lift his hand and offer an awkward wave, but he managed to control himself. He imagined seeing someone he thought meant to kill him smile and wave at him would probably be more threatening than friendly. Nimueh jerked backward at the sight of them, her back smacking hard against the wall as she tried to turn back through the room she just exited. Failing that, she raised her hands, any number of spells on her lips. But the sapphires glinted at Oliver, and instinct told him, this time, to throw up a shield.
The force of all his will concentrated behind this one action, Oliver cast a shield large enough to protect both himself and Connor, but without any significant gemstones through which to funnel the magic, the shield wouldn’t last long. Thankfully, it did linger long enough to block Nimueh’s curse and send it rebounding in the direction of the window. When the blast of the curse hit the glass, it shattered to dust before their eyes, and Nimueh raised her hands again to curse them.
“Honestly, Nim, please,” Maeve said, her voice loud enough to stop them all. She hadn’t yelled, only spoke with the kind of authority they tried to teach at the Police Academy. “The glass in that window was hundreds of years old. Original mouldings, Nim. Original. You’re replacing them.”
Nimueh’s eyes flickered between Oli and Connor and Maeve, her brow lowering in confusion. “Am I going mad?” she asked, and Maeve laughed. “You brought Connor Pierce to me? Let him in willingly to where he could hurt me?”
Maeve looked wounded at this, her expression shifting to horror. “He’s not going to hurt you, Nim,” she said. “I’ve vetted them. Trust me.”
“I’m not sure I do!” Nimueh cried, and Maeve rolled her eyes.
“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” she said. “Oliver and Connor are innocent. They’ve been set up.”
Nimueh lowered her hands slightly but raised her chin defiantly at them instead. Oliver could smell the ginger and honey coming off the bubbling liquid in the decanter. “How can you know for sure?”
Maeve’s expression changed again, affecting a deadpan, and she said, “You doubt my skills?”
Nimueh shrunk back, slumping against the wall and dropping her hands as though she’d had her last fight, unable to keep going.
“Oh, it hardly matters at this point,” she said, finally dropping her arms altogether. Back to the darkened doorway from whence she came, she made to sit around the table before them. “Not with everything that’s happened. I don’t even have the energy to fight.” Waving a dismissive hand at Oli and Connor, Nimueh fell into a thick armchair. Oli and Connor followed quietly after her, though they did not sit.
“I’m going to die anyway,” she said, tears spilling down her cheek again. “Like he did. I’ve lost my kingdom and my family. What does it matter what happens to me now? They murdered Logan… they’ll murder me too.”
“Please, your Majesty,” Oliver said, bowing low to Nimueh and keeping his head down as he spoke. “With respect, I disagree.” He swallowed hard, thinking through the words clearly and carefully, counting them out in his head.
“You don’t think I’m a target?” she asked, eyebrows up. “Well, you’d know, I suppose.”
Oliver shook his head. “I don’t think it was murder.” He paused, and Nimueh sat up straight, confused and shocked, hope written clearly and heart-wrenchingly on her face. “I think it was a coup.”
Chapter 20
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, the way a summer storm rolls in—slowly and stealthily, until suddenly you’re in the dark and thunder cracks in the distance. Nimueh no longer looked at Oli and Connor as though they were bloodthirsty killers. The look in her eyes now distinctly said she thought they were delusional bloodthirsty killers. Oliver took a deep breath to mitigate the rising frustration. Even during the Thistledown Thrasher case, when he’d been up against the whole of the NCPD, he hadn’t had this much trouble convincing people to the truth.
“A coup?” Nimueh said, her downy soft voice wearing the hard edge of disbelief with surprising effectiveness. “You think Logan was murdered in a coup? As I understand it, fighting and killing the Alpha is hardly a shocking turn of events in Werewolf Court, provided it happens in full view of the rest of the pack.”
Though there was the vaguest whiff of the High Warlock’s words about her statement, there was none of the ire or hatred. Instead, it was matter-of-fact, as though discussing the cultural traditions of Werewolf Court was something she had become accustomed to doing. Oliver considered her a moment. Connor shifted in his position, his tall, lean figure cutting a striking line against the backdrop of the room. Surrounded by people smaller than he was, he looked uncomfortable, and after a moment of tense inner-turmoil, Connor very carefully, very intentionally, moved over to the sofa and sat down.
Oliver watched him go, his head now sunk below the eye-line of every other person in the room, even Nimueh seated stalk straight in her chair. Normally carrying perfect posture and a straight spine, Connor forced himself to lean back against the couch, curling his shoulders somewhat, head slightly downturned. He was trying to appear smaller, less threatening.
Repressing the smile summoned to his mouth, Oliver followed Connor’s lead and took a seat next to him, relaxing his own posture as much as was possible under the circumstances. He also plucked at the glasses on the table, setting out one glass for each of them and picking up the carafe to pour.
“That is true, Highness,” Oliver said, bowing his head slightly at the word ‘Highness’ without thinking. “But the fact is that Logan was not killed in front of the rest of his pack. He was killed in secret, while he was vulnerable, and the scene was made to look as though his most likely replacement was responsible. If that doesn’t sound like a coup, I’m not sure what does.”
Nimueh’s eyes wandered between Oliver and Connor on the couch, Oliver proffering a glass of the sparkling gold beverage to her. After a moment, she glanced at Maeve, who blinked slowly and nodded. With a heavy sigh and a tight posture, Nimueh shifted forward on her armchair opposite the sofa and took the glass from Oliver, and Maeve, with a long-suffering breath and a roll of her eyes, sat down in the armchair next to her.
“But why would such a person bother to kill Logan within the bounds of my Court?” Nimueh asked. “If it was just a subterfuge to claim Alpha, why involve Witches and Wizards at all?”
Oliver didn’t answer immediately, pausing to take a sip of his drink. Immediately, his mouth was filled with the taste of summer—the warm kiss of sunlight on skin, the spray of salt water against the hull of a boat, the aroma of coconut and pineapple, fresh-peeled and cored, and the indescribable liberty of unclothed arms and legs, of toes in grass, and a ticking sprinkler. It tasted of daylight and joy, and Oliver felt his worries and troubles begin to evaporate beneath an invisible sun.
“Good, isn’t it?” Maeve asked, an eyebrow quirked, her lips pressed tight to the rim of the glass as she sipped. “Distilled seasons are a pleasure few get to experience in their full wonder. But Fae magic can accomplish all measure of miraculous things.” This was a pointed comment for Connor, and Connor favoured Maeve with his signature smirk, tipping his glass to her and taking another sip.
“It’s also a fantastic, if extremely temporary, anti-depressant,” Nimueh muttered, taking a long drink from her cup. Oliver watched her.
“I don’t think that whoever is responsible for the coup is finished,” Oliver said, and realizing it was probably safer to not finish his drink, he placed the cup back on the table.
Nimueh leaned forward slightly, her long hair falling in pieces around her shoulders. “You think I’m still in danger? And Maeve?”
Oliver considered them, studying their expressions, and let his eyes roam back to Connor. “I don’t know,” he said, still watching his lover. Connor had downed the glass of liquid summer in a few mouthfuls and his face was a mask of bliss. The closest
Oliver had ever seen to that expression on Connor’s features was just after they had sex. “It’s a possibility. A very real one, I’d say.” He turned back to Nimueh. “They didn’t set the scene in your Court for no reason. It would have been easier to kill Logan in his own Court, but I don’t think ease is what the murderers had in mind at all. I think they had… or have, anyway, a plan.”
Nimueh sat back, and Oliver let his eyes roam over to the cabinet in the corner. There were bottles upon bottles of alcohol, all opened and in different stages of emptiness, glasses, and more carafes of liquid summer. On the desk to one side, there was a collection of photos. From where he was sitting, he could barely see the top one, but it appeared as though it framed Nimueh and Logan at some official event.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes bright with a kind of fear Oliver knew well. It was the terror that gripped you when the world seemed to be falling out from beneath your feet. Oliver had experienced it at age ten, and then again when Sky left him without explanation. He’d felt it once more, though in a much different way, when he met Connor. The world had fallen out from beneath his feet, but in that case, it meant he was able to step into a new one. A better one.
“The killer, or killers, didn’t just murder Logan and frame Connor,” Oliver said, thinking it all out as he spoke, worried he may have missed something and was about to sound like an idiot before the Queens of two Courts. “They did all that within the boundaries of your Court, and they found ways to implicate me in the murders. Or at least in a conspiracy.” Oliver took a deep breath, his constitution rattled. He hadn’t allowed it to set in, really, that he was being accused of treason, of conspiracy to commit murder. He couldn’t let it set in, or he might lose focus. “By implicating me, on the land of your Court, the killers have already implicated your Court. By that very detail, there is no way that Witches and Wizards throughout can ignore what happened. Everything that the NCPD does, everything you do, that your Council and Court do, in the aftermath of Logan’s death has and will continue to affect the landscape of political relationships between the two Courts.”
“And the Wolves of my Court will be paying close attention,” Connor said, keeping his posture unthreatening as he could make it. He did, however, straighten himself slightly, his eyes now rising to meet Nimueh’s gaze. She did not look away when he did, and Oliver took comfort in that. “They want justice for what was done to Logan, and they will want it quickly. But they also want to see what it is the Treaty really means to the people of your Court. If Werewolves and Wizards are truly considered equal, then the murder of the Werewolf Alpha should be treated with due respect.”
At this, Nimueh sat up taller, lifting her chin in defiant haughtiness, her eyes blazing at Connor. “I’ve put every resource into the search for you and the collection of evidence,” she said. “I have treated the investigation of Logan’s murder with firm and powerful action and the deepest respect.” Her voice wavered slightly, her eyes shining anew. Oliver studied her, then he glanced at Maeve.
Maeve’s eyes were on Nimueh, her expression full of sorrow, but there were no tears in her eyes, no quiver in her lips. Instead, the pain she displayed seemed directed at her fellow Queen. It was compassion—written in every plane and curve of Maeve’s face, in the slow bow of her eyelashes. Oliver studied Nimueh again.
“Yes,” Connor said, bowing his head in apology. “You have done far more than was expected of you.”
Nimueh nodded briefly, then hesitated, thinking on his words. “What do you mean, more?”
Oliver and Connor shared a look. Maeve reached out and grasped Nimueh’s hand, squeezing it gently for comfort.
“You reacted with unqualified haste and severity,” Connor said slowly. “Throwing all of the NCPD behind the investigation, even at the expense of policing within the bounds of your Court.”
“And before there could be a full review of the evidence,” Oliver added, “you gave the NCPD and Special Response Squad free reign to shoot on sight if they apprehended Connor or I.” Oliver swallowed. “Never in the history of the NCPD has a Royal command been put forth that denied the suspects a right to a trial. Even in a case of Treason, or regicide as dramatic and horrifying as this one, this reaction was—out of proportion.”
In an instant, the air became brittle again. Nimueh’s expression turned to stone, and she folded her hands over her knees with the cool distance of a noble speaking to peasants complaining about neighbourhood squabbles.
“Perhaps it is that this kind of treason has no precedent in our history,” Nimueh said, eyeing Connor coldly.
“With respect, Majesty,” Oliver said, “it does have precedent. During the Thousand Years War, several monarchs were killed, usually by assassins sent from the opposing Courts. Before that, during the War of the Trees, at least four Fae monarchs were murdered by their usurpers or by people acting on the instructions of a usurper. Within our own Court, just after the forming of the Three Courts, the Ruby Rebellion and the Sapphire Insurrections lead to the assassination of our kingdom’s most hated monarch, King Sylvanus the Slippery. Even in those cases, the accused were all given the courtesy of a fair trial before a jury of their peers before they were eventually executed.”
Nimueh stared at Oliver, her expression inscrutable. Oliver swallowed, closing one hand over the other and pressing roughly down on his knuckles to release the tension.
“I only did what I believed was just,” Nimueh said, her voice barely a whisper. The usually mellifluous tone of her voice changed to a rough scrape, choked and struggling against her own tongue.
“Of course, Nim,” Maeve said, reaching over to wrap an arm around her. “You were in an impossible situation. No one can fully understand. And you’re giving them a chance now, Nim. You’re never too proud to learn. That’s what makes you such a wonderful Queen.”
Nimueh offered Maeve a sad smile, throwing her arms around her friend and hugging her tightly. Maeve patted at her hair softly, stroking out some of the more wayward waves.
“I’m sorry, your Highness,” Oliver said. “It was not our intention to criticize you during this difficult time,” he said, casting a glance at Connor. Connor shrugged imperceptibly, as confused as Oliver was. “In fact, all we really need to know is—why you reacted that way.”
Nimueh sniffed softly and gathered herself up, eyebrows knitted over her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean ‘why’? One of the leaders of the Three Courts was murdered. It seemed so clear, at the time, what needed to be done.”
Oliver caught Maeve’s eye and said, “I don’t believe you.” Then, after a beat, he added, “your Majesty.” Nimueh’s eyes widened in shock, but Oliver pressed on before she decided to have them both arrested after all. “What I mean is, Queen Maeve did not react the same way you did, and yet she is as much a leader of the Three Courts as you.”
“But it happened in my Court,” Nimueh said, defensive. “I felt personally responsible—”
“Yes,” Oliver said, studying her face. “You did feel personally responsible for some reason. But not because it happened in your Court. There’s something else.”
Nimueh seemed discombobulated. “I can’t imagine what other—”
“Why was Logan in your Court?” Connor asked, his piercing eyes on Nimueh now. Again, she met his gaze confidently, but a flash of something behind her eyes gave away how shaken she was. “He told me he had a meeting, but he wouldn’t say with whom or why. Logan tells me everything.” Connor caught himself suddenly, his expression briefly horrified, then he quietly added, “Told me everything.”
She said nothing, the hem of the long, thin sweater playing between her fine fingers. As though looking for something in Connor, her eyes never left him. He held her gaze silently, allowing her to search.
“Please, Majesty,” Oliver said, his voice low and quiet. “We can’t find the truth and protect both our Courts unless you’re honest with us.”
With slow, deliberate
motion, Nimueh looked from Connor to Oliver and back. Her hair tumbled in waves over her shoulder now, pooling near her lap, and everything about her appearance softened her look. Oliver suddenly saw her as a regular woman, not noble or royal, holding something close to her heart for fear of letting it break.
“He was there to see me,” she said, and both Oliver and Connor glanced at Maeve, who offered no discernable expression at all. Nimueh adjusted herself, shifting in her seat.
“Why so late?” Oliver asked, his mind refusing to catch up with the conversation. “What could—”
“Did you love him?” Connor asked abruptly, and Nimueh met his scrutiny again. It held, her eyes filled with raw pain and unfiltered anguish. Everything began to fall into place.
“I did,” she said. “I do. Still. I probably always will.”
Connor dropped his gaze, eyelids sliding shut, and placed his head in his hands. Oliver shook his head.
“You were having an affair?” he asked. “You’re married… you’ve two children…” None of those things ever stopped someone before, Oliver knew, but something about his respect for Nimueh made it impossible for him to accept this from her. The one thing Oliver could not stand, could never accept, was cheating. It was one of the reasons, and there were many, he refused to allow himself into a relationship for so long. Casual sex and one-night-stands were much easier to deal with than feelings and ties to a whole person who could destroy you with a single act. There were no strings in one-night-stands. No pain except the emptiness he’d have to push aside in the morning.
“It’s not that simple,” Nimueh explained, her eyes downcast now. “Corbyn, my husband, and I haven’t been together for a long time. We live separate lives, drawn together only by ceremony and our children.” She brushed her hair behind her ear, looking out to the far corner of the room, as though it might have the words to explain what she was trying to say. “For some people, love doesn’t last the way it does in books and ballads. For some, it burns down to coal. What you’re left with is respect and care, but not love like it should be. He and I both agreed on this, and he’s had a dalliance, here and there, always quietly and carefully. But because of my position, I’d resigned myself to being alone for the rest of my days. The Council never would have passed a divorce. They would have sought to unseat me as Queen rather than allow me to be happy and single. But then I met Logan,” she said, and a breath of relief washed over her, her eyes closed to savour the memory, “and I felt it immediately. He did too, or so he told me. But it could never be. If the Council had a problem with me single, it would certainly have a problem with me courting a Werewolf, Treaty or not.” She shook her head in dismay. “So I denied my feelings and his for a long time. Until I saw you both,” she said, and Oliver and Connor shared a moment, unconsciously leaning in toward one another. Nimueh smiled. “Both so in love, so determined, so powerfully against the odds, and yet you were making it work. You were changing history, everything.” Eyes glassy again, Nimueh brushed away the tears with the back of her fingers. “If your relationship was real, strong, official, then it opened the doors for anyone else to explore that possibility. It would change the relationship between the Courts forever. A Wizard as mate to an Alpha? Unheard of. And what’s more, a Wizard accepted as mate to an Alpha?” She shook her head again, and Maeve smiled at them both, apparently in agreement.
