A shock of panic ran through me, a sour jolt of fear. I tried to keep my too wide eyes from moving to Falin. He couldn’t help me, and looking away would make me look guilty. Not what I wanted. Ryese had mentioned there were questions as to the queen’s fitness to rule, between the pressure of challengers to her throne and Icelynne’s bones displayed in clear threat, the queen was feeling the stress. I didn’t want to get ripped to shreds in her wake. I tried to calm the panic, or at least hide it, and school my face to something more placating.
“I meant no disrespect,” I said, dropping my gaze to the icy floor. “I have a lead I’m following. Two bogeymen. A hobgoblin named Tommy Rawhead and a hag named Jenny Greenteeth. I believe they are connected to the case.” I paused and chanced a glance up. The queen had gone still, her mouth twisting downward. “Are you familiar with them, your majesty?”
Her lips pursed, buckling in an expression that made her pretty face much less so. “No. Knight? Council?”
Maeve and Lyell glanced at each other, too much of the whites of their eyes flashing before both shook their heads. Falin rose, the motion slow, clearly painful. He walked to the queen’s side. He didn’t limp, or hold himself, but his stride lacked the predatory grace I was accustomed to from him. How badly had he been hurt? I couldn’t ask. Not yet at least.
“They are not members of your court, my queen. I would have to check the records to determine if they are independents in your territory.”
The queen flicked her wrist, and I couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging his words, brushing them aside, or if it was just a twitch. She seemed more than a little twitchy.
I chewed at my cheek, weighing my words before I spoke. Finally I let out a breath I’d barely been aware I’d been holding before saying, “Falin’s assistance would be useful to me on this case.” After all, he had access to a lot of information I didn’t, and he could cut some red tape for me when it came to interviewing potential victims. Well, the dead ones at least.
“Oh, you would love taking my knight away from me, wouldn’t you, planeweaver?”
“No, I—” I floundered and glanced toward Falin, hoping he could offer me some guidance before I put my foot so far in my mouth the queen decided it needed to be cut off. Along with my tongue. And maybe my head.
I swallowed and cleared my throat.
Falin stared back at me for a moment, then, slowly, he lifted one hand to his side, pressing his ribs ever so slowly. What the hell did that mean? His hand moved to the nasty-looking gash on his face next.
Oh. I could guess his shirt hid a wound on his side as well. I turned back toward the queen.
“Your majesty, if he is to continue to win duels, he needs time to heal. Wouldn’t he be best utilized investigating the alchemist while he recovers?”
She lifted one dark eyebrow, studying me. Then a smile crawled across her face, making her red lips spread wide. “Yes, a tool must be used to keep its edge. But duels can only be postponed so long.” She turned to Falin. “You have forty-eight hours, Knight. Then you must return to my side. I expect you to return with this menace’s head.” She turned, her gown swishing and flinging melted drops of water. “You’re both dismissed.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I glanced at Falin, and then turned and hurried out of the room.
Chapter 20
“The queen seemed . . . different,” I said as Falin rummaged through the first-aid kit in his glove box.
He grunted, the sound noncommittal, before pressing a large gauze pad enchanted with a healing spell against the vicious-looking gash across his ribs. I winced. The first-aid kit seemed painfully inadequate for how hurt he appeared to be, and while I could attest to the fact he healed faster than normal, it still seemed as if he should be getting medical help. But I couldn’t make him see a healer or doctor, so I didn’t bother arguing.
“She mentioned she’d been turned on by her own court. Betrayed. I’m assuming she didn’t mean the alchemist. Blayne?” I asked, guessing.
Now it was Falin’s turn to wince, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the wound he was cleaning.
“Dead,” he finally said, shutting the first-aid kit.
I was not expecting that response. “A duel? He challenged the queen for her throne?”
Falin sighed. “He did not intend to. But the queen is, as you said, not herself. By the time she’d twisted everything, he had little choice but to challenge her.”
“And he lost.” I wondered if he’d been the one to deliver the worst of Falin’s wounds. “I don’t suppose he was the alchemist by any chance?”