“Also, he is a king,” Dugan whispered. “Taking his time is his prerogative.”
“And wasting it is a foolish and dangerous endeavor,” a booming voice said from inside the inky darkness covering the mirror.
The glass cleared, but instead of reflecting the three of us crammed in the small bathroom, it filled with what I thought at first was just an image of the sky. Near the bottom of the mirror was a picturesque scene of fae in wildflowers surrounded by several trees lazily blowing in a gentle wind. A faun played a set of pipes near the very edge of the mirror’s view; a woman with green skin and brilliant purple flowers growing in her hair played a harp beside him. A group of women who had bark for skin danced to the music, dragging with them a young man with shaggy dark hair who looked suspiciously human. Near the bottom of the mirror was a man lounging among the flowers. He was shirtless, his skin a tanned gold and his chestnut brown curls glowing with gold and red highlights in the afternoon sunshine. A small crown of twisting green vines was almost lost among the curls. A delicate-looking fae lay with her head in his lap, her eyes closed and peaceful, her shimmering butterfly wings fluttering softly in her slumber. Another fae sat behind him, weaving small forget-me-not flowers into his curls.
“A prince, a knight, and . . .” The king leaned forward, peering hard at me through the glass of the mirror. “What might you be?”
“An investigator,” I said at the same time Dugan said, “The planeweaver.”
I tried to hide a cringe, but the king’s chestnut eyebrow rose. He waved off the fae decorating his hair and leaned even closer to the mirror, filling most of it so that we could only see slips of a cloudless sky around him.
“Now, that does make this call more interesting.” His gaze swept around the small room. “Where are you calling me from? That is surely neither the shadow nor winter court.”
“We are in a less-than-ideal spot in the mortal realm,” Dugan said.
“And your monarchs know you are contacting me?”
I didn’t shoot a nervous glance at Falin, but it was a near thing.
Dugan, however, didn’t miss a beat. “We are acting within the instructions we were given.”
And that was why getting an honest answer out of fae was damn difficult. Not being able to lie didn’t mean the truth you got out of them wouldn’t imply a lie. Dugan was instructed to stop a war by the Shadow King, and we were charged with finding Stiofan’s killer by the Winter Queen, so we were, in fact, following the tasks we’d been given. But neither monarch had sanctioned—or even knew we were—contacting the summer court. And I was pretty sure the Winter Queen wouldn’t approve.
“I see,” the Summer King said, measuring Dugan’s words.
The image in the mirror rippled. Then the image swirled, breaking apart into a mesh of colors with no distinction. I glanced at Falin, afraid we’d offended the king before we’d even gotten a chance to ask about Lunabella.
Falin held up a hand, silencing the questions on the tip of my tongue. He gestured toward the mirror. The shapes were becoming more distinct again, the most obvious of which was a very feminine, and very naked, ass and pair of legs. The woman’s skin was silvery and covered in scales. She took a step forward, and a water droplet fell from her ankle. The image in the mirror rippled.
“Are we talking to the king from inside a pool?” I asked.
“A pond, more likely,” Falin answered in a low whisper.
Dugan shrugged. “Anything reflective works for this spell.”
The scaled woman, who must have been a water fae of some sort, set a bowl down in front of the Summer King. He smiled at her and nodded slightly, acknowledging her action. It surprised me. He seemed warm, even kind, interacting with his fae. It was no huge gesture, but I couldn’t imagine the Winter Queen doing the same.
The king waited until the scaled fae had vanished from our view before turning back to us. The pleasantness he’d shown his own fae hardened as he studied us again. It wasn’t that he looked particularly unfriendly, but certainly less jovial, less open.
“Winter is no friend of summer. I do not take it as a great thing to be called upon by her bloody hands. But, last I had heard, shadow was no