remembered—would never have allowed harm to come to her favorite courtiers.
Had the fall of House Ever-Loyal changed her so fundamentally?
How could any House trust the Queen, if there was no safety offered in return for total loyalty?
“I, too, am the Queen’s most loyal servant. As you must be,” Faolan finished, licking a fleck of red from the corner of his mouth and shuddering to his feet. “Leave us to our business, stay out of Morien’s way, and you’ll be happier by and by.”
He lurched past Somhairle, through the door, into the hall. A shadow. A stranger. His loyalties, Somhairle thought, made plain.
Faolan didn’t look back, though—to Somhairle’s credit— neither did Somhairle allow his face to crumple.
He wasn’t so far from the Hill that he’d forgotten that.
With his stiff, awkward gait, Somhairle maneuvered around the broken glass and books on the floor to approach his writing desk, which stood as an undamaged eye in the center of a now passed storm. Its four stout legs were carved to resemble an Ancient One’s paws, furred and feathered talons. Its polished walnut surface was littered with more of Faolan’s papers.
Papers he might have left behind because he thought Somhairle was too naive or too honorable to snoop through them.
But Somhairle was his mother’s son. The same blazing willpower that had kept her reign’s light shining for nearly two centuries flowed through his veins.
Also, he suspected Faolan was too clever by far to have left documents behind if he truly wished their contents to remain private.
A few of the pages were opened letters: correspondence from House Ever-Learning’s steward about the hounds, one from the royal archives thanking Lord Faolan for the return of their city records, and an abandoned missive that read in part . . . some connection can be presumed but not guaranteed . . . and . . . not a true setback . . . amid larger sections of text that had been blacked out hastily with splashes of ink.
Faolan and Morien’s business for the Queen, whatever it was, wasn’t going as hoped.
On the desk, a vellum map of Ever-Land had been half copied onto parchment, the unfinished copy nearly obscured by a leather-bound book being employed as a paperweight. Recognizing it as one of his own by the gilt binding, Somhairle hefted the volume. The task required both hands.
The drawing beneath was one he knew down to the smallest detail: a tracing of a watercolor of the Lone Tower, the original image from a tome on fae history that offered multiple artists’ attempts to portray its underground chambers and halls.
Someone as important as Faolan wouldn’t bother mapping myths and old wives’ tales.
Next, a series of recent assessments and surveys of several royal mining tunnels that spanned the city’s foundations. The Queen, always digging for silver.
As a child, Somhairle had pretended she sought fae relics. Older now, he’d learned that Queen Catriona reserved no space in her heart for sentimentality without purpose. It was the same with her sons. She loved them because they were a living testament to her total defeat of Oberon’s curse—not because she had any special interest in them as individuals.
Somhairle looked closer at the copied drawing. Contemplated the incomparable riches Oberon Black-Boned hid in the earth before his demise.
Perhaps the Queen was looking for something more precious than silver.
Somhairle dropped the book, snatched his hands back as though he’d burned them. Faolan had made it clear that he wouldn’t share his secrets with Somhairle.
Why make such a declaration, only to leave Somhairle alone in the room with his private documents?
There was something else at play here. For the first time, as far from the Hill as could be, Somhairle Ever-Bright found himself entangled in courtly intrigue.
49
Cab
They were underground, in a damp maze that had to be a sewer. Cab was thankful it was dark. The smells were enough to emphasize where they were without a torch.
Cab had kindly requested One’s presence. Being her “master” didn’t seem the right term for what they shared—a partnership—and Cab wouldn’t command her to do anything she didn’t want to. He was desperate for her company but had practice pushing his needs aside.
She’d promised to make an appearance, but added that she might be a while.
Which left Cab alone with Sil in the sewers, on his way to being introduced to the members of Sil’s dedicated Resistance.
Resistance. It was the word whispered through the Queensguard with the understanding that anyone in this category was to be executed at once. No