And then . . .” The shade trailed off as the memories ran their course to the end.
Dugan’s brow furrowed. “And then what?”
“Normally this is where I say ‘and then he died.’ But in this case, I think he died a while before the ‘and then’ because the memories I use to create shades record until the soul leaves the body. His body was dead, so time and sensation would have been harder for his trapped soul to process.” I gave a half shrug and then frowned at Dugan. “It sounds like he was murdered in the shadow court. You knew which of your fae was dead in winter before you walked into my office. Did you search your court for signs of foul play?”
Dugan’s lips twisted, not quite a frown, but an expression that said either he was trying not to scowl or he was thinking about something that almost provoked a scowl. After a moment he said, “When rumors reached us that he was dead in the winter halls, I went to Kordon’s home and let myself in. Nothing looked out of place. I searched for his workshop but could not locate it.”
“I’m assuming you don’t mean that you got lost?”
Now he did frown. “Faerie taking his workshop was enough for me to believe he was indeed missing and that the whispers of his death were true.”
So as Falin had warned when we’d been in Stiofan’s room, Faerie had begun reclaiming the deceased’s properties. That meant we might never find the crime scene, so we needed to get as much information as we could from Kordon.
Dugan stepped up to the edge of my circle. “Kordon, you saw nothing of who attacked you?”
The shade didn’t answer. Shades couldn’t hear anyone but the grave witch who raised them. I rephrased the question before I repeated it.
“Did you see who attacked you?”
“No.”
“Do you know who attacked you?” I asked before Dugan could form his next question because shades, having no will or personality, tended to be very literal. He could know something but not tell us because I phrased the question wrong.
“No,” the shade said again.
So much for that theory.
“Did you have any unusual commissions or clients recently?” Dugan asked, and I repeated the question.
“No.”
“Has anyone been displeased with your shadows?”
“No.”
Well, we weren’t making much progress.
Dugan asked several more questions relating to Kordon’s shadow-sculpting, but there was no indication his death was related to his work. When Dugan finally ran out of questions, I interjected my own.
“Did you know Stiofan of the winter court?”
“No.”
I frowned at the shade. Aside from learning the location of the first crime scene, he hadn’t been helpful and I was already starting to tremble from the grave chill seeping through me. I didn’t want to hold his shade much longer if he couldn’t tell us more. Stiofan’s body was going to be trickier and I didn’t want to be exhausted if his ghost emerged enraged.
Falin stepped forward. “Goblins have exceptional noses—though you might not guess it from their poor hygiene. Ask him if he smelled anything out of place before the attack.”
It was the first thing Falin had said since I began the ritual, and I repeated the question for the shade.
“Honeysuckle,” the shade said. “I noticed it right before I felt the hand on my shoulder and noted that it was odd because honeysuckles don’t grow in the darkness of the shadow court.”
I shot a glance at Falin as the shade spoke. He looked contemplative, but he didn’t offer any more questions. I didn’t think honeysuckles were any more likely to grow in the frost of the winter court than they were to grow in shadow. That definitely seemed to point to someone outside either court wanting winter and shadow at each other’s throats, but how had they moved so freely through both courts?
“Any more questions?” I asked, glancing first at Falin and then Dugan. Both men shook their heads. “Rest now,” I told the shade, drawing back my living heat and magic with the words. The shade melted back into the body bag and then it was gone.
I turned toward the other bag. With my shields open, the bag appeared tattered and worn, the body—and the silver glow of the soul—visible underneath. I reached outward with my magic, letting it sink into the body. The soul inside was warm and vibrant and didn’t like the frigid touch of the grave my magic carried. It fled from me but had nowhere to go, as the