a few days on Visio. It wasn’t just Nethissis’s death that was haunting us—though, as far as I was concerned, it was by far our most pressing issue. Derek, Sofia, and Amal were still working on identifying and isolating the day-walking protein from the Aeternae’s blood, in the hopes of turning all vampires into day-walkers.
The emergence of Darklings and their murderous attempt against Valaine had also taken center stage, along with the possibility that they might’ve had something to do with Nethissis’s demise—we had no proof of this, though. No motive. It was difficult to move it past the assumption point. On top of that, the premature return of the Black Fever, which threatened to decimate the Aeternae population and had no cure, was equally troubling. With our hands full like this, Tristan and I had decided to divide the tasks between us as efficiently as possible.
He and Valaine were following the Darkling angle, mainly because they had yet to figure out how the group had infiltrated the palace. Kalon and I focused on interviewing the palace gardeners first, hoping we’d get an answer as to how Nethissis had made her way out here—and how a damn fox had managed to kill her.
The first three interviews had not yielded much, though I couldn’t fault the Rimian gardeners for it. They’d all told us the same thing. They’d been having trouble for years with keeping the foxes out because of the gardens’ exquisitely attractive biodiversity. The animals’ presence here was not odd.
Golden guards were stationed by the palace’s back doors, and they were a recent fixture. Danika and Acheron had apparently ordered them to stay close, because their eyes were on us at all times.
“You know they’re watching us, right?” I asked Kalon as we moved to interview a fourth Rimian gardener. He waited close to the bush where we’d found Nethissis, sweating rivers as we approached him.
Kalon glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “You mean the guards?”
I nodded. “We’ve stirred the pot, haven’t we?”
“You can say that again,” Kalon muttered. He couldn’t see me smiling beneath my sun mask. I found his broodiness a bit endearing, because I felt it was genuine. Nethissis’s death had taken him by surprise, and he was more than willing to help me figure out what had happened to her. My opinion of Kalon Visentis had shifted significantly from that first impression.
We stopped in front of the Rimian gardener, who bowed politely, nervously eyeing me. “Milady,” he mumbled.
“You were on the night shift here, weren’t you?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and soft. I’d learned to soothe my interviewees, especially when they were on edge like this guy. Maybe he was hiding something.
“I was, milady,” he said, avoiding eye contact.
Kalon was quick to notice. “What’s wrong? You look nervous.”
“Oh, no, milord. I’m… I’m just shocked by what happened,” the gardener managed, but I wasn’t buying it.
“What is your name?” I asked, keeping my hands behind my back.
“Beval, milady,” the gardener said. “At your service.”
“What did you see last night, Beval?” I replied, knowing he, like his colleagues, had already been questioned by the golden guards.
Corbin was still in the palace, interviewing servants. I had no idea what Petra and Zoltan were up to, but a murder investigation was definitely not their cup of tea, especially since they were keen to label this an accident. I could see why they didn’t want Nethissis’s death to be anything more than an unfortunate accident, but I cared very little for their national pride.
“Not much, milady. I was just tending to the nocturnal plants on the other side of the garden. I could not see all the way here,” Beval said, staring at the torn bush. His breathing was erratic. His heart was pounding.
“You know, there’s one thing I appreciate about good people,” I replied. “Genuinely good people. They’re terrible liars. Did you know that?”
Beval stared at me, his eyes wide and burning with guilt. “No, milady.”
“You seem like a very good man,” I said. “And a piss-poor liar.”
“Maybe you should tell us what you didn’t share with the golden guards,” Kalon interjected, his blue eyes reduced to cold, inquisitive slits. There was a threatening tone in his voice, one which beckoned Beval toward the truth—for more lies might get him in trouble, especially since he was so transparent.
I was being honest, though. Beval came across as a good soul. A kindhearted Rimian with thick black hair and a clean-shaven face. He couldn’t be older than