The midday sun filtered through the canopy of trees, painting a lazily moving filigree of gold on the forest floor. Birdsong and the rustle of animals in the undergrowth surrounded Basil as he followed the fae in front of him down the path, the comforting sounds of the woods a stark contrast to the silence of his traveling companion.

Isa had barely spoken a word to him all morning, had reverted to being his professionally distant guide and protector in Faerie. Gone were all traces of the desire she showed him last night, of the lust and longing he felt in her kiss. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? She had welcomed his kiss, had responded in kind, revealing a streak of fiery passion underneath her usually calm facade.

She wanted him, that much was clear after last night. Desire such as she displayed didn’t just fizzle out over a few hours. For whatever reason, she was reluctant to admit her attraction to him, and put up a front of indifference, acted as if nothing happened.

Well, now. That didn’t mean all hope was lost. The possibility of winning her affection was worth fighting for. At the very least, it was worth another shot, another attempt to find out if those doubts of hers would truly keep her from acting on her desire for him, or if they’d dissipate when she got to know him better. He’d barely begun courting her, so he’d give her more time, would respect her boundaries—while at the same time making sure she knew, felt, believed that he appreciated her, and would love to make her his.

If she truly didn’t want him, if she rejected him completely, he’d back off, of course. But until she told him to go to hell, he planned to do his damnedest to woo her off her feet.

“By the way, who is your source?” he asked, referring to the fae they planned to tap for information about Rose. They’d been hiking for a few hours now, drawing close—according to Isa—to the informant’s dwelling.

Isa threw a quick glance at him as he caught up with her. “He’s a collector of rare and extraordinary objects. Buys and sells all sorts of things that are hard to come by, which means he often hears the strangest rumors from people all over Faerie and beyond. Chances are he picked up something about a witch changeling. Or knows someone else who might have heard.”

“Do you think he might have something to eat, too?”

She blinked, stopped short. “You’re hungry? Didn’t you just eat a whole bag of dried meat? And two apples?”

“Well, yes, but that was a snack. We are going to have lunch soon, aren’t we?”

“You had two breakfasts. Two!”

“Which is the way it should be. Just ask any hobbit.”

“Any what?”

He sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Seriously, we are going to have to watch so many movies.”

Something flickered through her slate gray eyes, there and gone again within a heartbeat. “I’ll see if I can bag a rabbit later.”

She resumed walking, and he followed, his attention inexorably drawn to her hips, to the firmness of her butt, so deliciously revealed by the tight fabric of her pants. Her legs were elegantly muscled, a testament to her active lifestyle, to the strength of a hunter. He indulged himself in blissful visions of how those legs would feel wrapped around his hips…or his shoulders…while he dove in and tasted her. Would she squeeze him tight, pull him closer? Would her thigh muscles quiver and flex in response to his licks? Would she be sensitive in the dip at the juncture of her thighs?

His body hardened, desire pumping hot through his veins. He wanted to explore her, every tiny bit of her. He wanted to learn what made her sigh, moan, which touch made her writhe, what move would make her look at him with eyes turned to candescent silver by the force of her desire. And what would she do to him when he gave her free rein?

By the gods, he’d never felt such a powerful craving for a female before. The little taste of her he sampled when they kissed? It had kicked off an avalanche of need, a longing so strong it bordered on addiction.

He took deep breaths of the chilly forest air to clear his head and cool his desire, savored the fragrance of the most recent rain shower. Winter in the Pacific Northwest meant lots of moisture and mild temperatures, which he didn’t mind at all. He’d take months of rain over snow and ice any day.

The path opened onto a meadow, lush green, and rolling out toward wooded hills. A hawk’s cry echoed across the glade, and Isa stopped abruptly. Her face turned toward the sky, she smiled, then whistled a melody. The hawk cried again, almost as if in answer. Basil blinked when she held out her arm, and a few seconds later the bird of prey swooped down and settled on the wrist guard on her forearm.

Isa murmured something in her language to the hawk, her face graced with an indulgent smile. The bird tilted its head, and when Isa touched its beak, caressed its feathers, the raptor nibbled at her hand in what was clearly a display of avian affection.

“Uh, I assume you two know each other?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“We sure do.” Isa used two fingers to gently groom the bird’s plumage. “This is Kîna. I saved her when she was a fledgling. Her parents were killed during a storm, when another tree fell on the nest, and Kîna barely survived. I was in between hunting projects and had some time on my hands, so I took her in and fed her until she got big enough to take care of herself. She’s been my friend ever since.” Those eyes of stone glowed with warmth while she regarded the raptor. “Seventeen years, and she still finds me every few weeks, and joins me when I’m hunting.”

“Seventeen years? I didn’t know hawks could live that long.”

“That, and longer. Fates willing, she’ll be my friend for years to come yet.” She blinked, and a sudden darkness swept over her face. She peered at him from underneath her lashes, then quickly looked away. A muttered word in her language prompted Kîna to push off her arm and take off with powerful flaps of her wings.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly while he watched the graceful flight of the raptor.

“If you are nice, I’ll ask her to hunt for you.” She started walking again. “Something tells me you won’t be satisfied with a rabbit for lunch.”

Oh, he could be more than nice to her. If only she let him… “I’m forever at your service, milady.”

She paused, turned to him. “Don’t ever say that to a fae unless you plan to enslave yourself. Be very careful how you speak. Fae take a lot of things literally, and many will hold you to an oath like that.”

He let out a breath, nodded. “Point taken.”

They started back on their trek, the hawk circling high above them, and thirty minutes later they reached a cottage set at the edge of a small lake.

“Let me do the talking,” Isa told him as they approached the front door, which featured intricate metal ornaments.

Before she even raised her hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing a tall, slender fae male with skin the color of pewter. He was half-bald, the other side of his head covered with long hair of gleaming silver. Numerous metal piercings adorned his nose, eyebrows, lips, and pointed ears.

His golden eyes flicked from Isa to Basil, studying him for a few seconds before he focused on Isa again and said something in Fae. She responded, waved at Basil, said some more, and part of her answer must have caught the fae’s attention, because a calculating spark lit his eyes, and he beckoned for them both to enter.

The main room was packed with objects of every size and origin, so many, and so wildly assorted, it reminded Basil of the Room of Hidden Things in Harry Potter. The opposite wall was barely visible behind the piles and towers of valuables and collectibles.

“I understand you wish to find something rare and special,” the fae said in English, his voice a deep bass with a metallic echo. The piercings in his lips moved as he smiled. “I happen to have a soft spot for such things.”

“Not a thing,” Isa said. “A person.”

The fae raised his silver brows. “And who would that be?”

“A changeling, brought into Faerie many years ago. A witch baby, to be precise. Her exchange may well have been hidden.”

Narrowing his eyes, the fae murmured, “A witch… That is indeed rare. We do not usually dare anger them thus.”

“Have you heard anything about a witch living among us? About a witch baby brought here? The swap would have happened more than two decades ago.”

“Hmm.” The fae stroked his chin, tapped his lips. “I think…I might have heard…” He made a frustrated sound. “Alas, my mind is not what it used to be. If only something could…jog my memory.” He tilted his head, smiled at Isa.

She sighed. “Name your price, Hathôm.”

“I want the dagger strapped to this one’s lower back.” He indicated Basil with a nod. “The one with the blade of palladium.”

Basil raised his brows. “Your element is metal, I take it?”

“Quite obviously so.” The fae smiled and waved at his silver hair, gold eyes, and the abundance of piercings on his face.

“That dagger is worth a lot of money,” Basil said.

“As is the information stored in here.” The fae tapped his head.

Basil gnashed his teeth and fisted and opened his hand before drawing the dagger out of its sheath. He offered the blade to the fae, hilt first. “I promise you this dagger in exchange for all the information you have about the witch changeling.”

Hathôm inclined his head. “Deal.”

The dagger moved in Basil’s hand, and he let go, watched as it floated toward the fae. Hathôm gently grasped the hilt, caressed the polished silver of its palladium blade. A pang pierced Basil’s heart. That dagger had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday. From Hazel. Though he could handle steel blades, he’d always preferred weapons made from other metals. Knowing what he did now about his true ancestry, it made sense—iron weakened fae.

And another thing occurred to him…Hazel must have known, too, that he’d have issues with iron and, to a lesser degree, with steel. So the dagger made of palladium—a metal related to platinum, but much lighter and thus making it a perfect weapon to carry strapped to his body at all times—had been, in fact, not just an expensive gift, but a thoughtful one as well.

“The information,” Isa interrupted Basil’s conflicted pondering.

Hathôm snapped out of his admiration of the valuable blade. “Yes. Of course. I heard about a witch changeling, many years ago, from a trusted source. He said he saw her, a girl with raven hair and the aura of a witch, hidden away by a fae couple. He chanced upon them, and barely made it away without the girl’s keepers blasting him with magic. They seemed so belligerent he didn’t want to pursue the matter further, and he only confided in me after…” A grin jingled the piercings on his mouth. “…an evening of indulging in the best of my royal wine.”

“Did he say where he saw her?”

Hathôm shook his head. “But I will give you his name and address, for the value of this blade.”

“Agreed,” Basil said.

“He is called Rinnar of Stone, and he lives in Lam’il.”

Isa inclined her head to Hathôm. “Your intel is worth the dagger.”

Basil took note how she didn’t thank the fae and yet managed to convey her appreciation for a bargain kept. Ah, the subtleties of fae protocol…

Hathôm bowed his head to her. “We part in goodwill, Isa of Stone.”

“We part in goodwill, Hathôm of Metal.”

When the door closed behind them and they’d walked out of earshot of the cottage, Basil turned to her, raised one eyebrow. “Isa of Stone?”

“That is my full name.”

“A fae’s last name is their element?”

“Correct.”

“Then I would be—”

“Basil of Earth,” Isa said with a smile. “Yes.”

“I like it.” His excitement fizzled out quickly, however, as his thoughts turned darker. “I wonder what my real mother would have named me. Or maybe she did, but it was never passed on.”

Isa studied him, her expression inscrutable. “Do you feel Hazel wasn’t real? As a mother?”

Well, hell. She’d picked up on the nuance in his tone, the underlying bitterness. He sighed. “She took care of me, yes. But how much of that was true affection on her part? What if she acted mostly out of obligation? What if, deep down, she resented me for being the wrong child? How many times did she wish the fae who swapped me for her daughter would return and take me back, so she could have her real child again? My father—adoptive father—was an ass to me most of the time, and now I can’t even be sure my mom—” He broke off.

Isa was silent for a few seconds. “You love her, though. Hazel. You wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t care about her.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Which must mean she treated you well. You’ve believed her to be loving all this time, no?”

“Sure, but—”

“Then you are luckier than you realize. I would have killed to have someone love me like that when I was a child, someone with a heart so big that they’re still able to show me love even after losing their baby.”

His breath caught painfully in his chest. He stopped, looked fully at her. “Who raised you?”

She kept walking, face turned away from him. “I did.”

It fucking broke his heart.

He swallowed, caught up with her again. “You were alone? For how long?”

She shrugged. “My parents died when I was five. I barely remember them. I’ve gotten by on my own ever since.”

“Wait—what? Five? You’ve survived alone since you were five years old?”

“I didn’t have any other family. No one else wanted me. Those who did show an interest in me…well, I quickly learned their motives were less than loving. So I avoided adult fae and learned to hunt.”

Vicious rage heated his blood. “Did they—” He clamped his mouth shut, shook his head. “I shouldn’t ask.”

A side glance from those sparkling gray eyes. “A few tried. They paid for it.”

“With their lives, I hope?”

Her smirk was positively wicked. “With their testicles.”

“Can fae grow back body parts?”

Her smile widened until she showed teeth. “No.”

“Good.” Grim satisfaction wound itself around his heart, even though a part of him itched to track down those fae and do some more major damage.

Isa uttered a choked sound, and stopped abruptly. With her hand fisted over her chest, the knuckles flashing white, she wheezed, her face ashen.

His heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

Muscles twitched in her face, and her neck corded, sweat coating her paled skin. With a cry, she fell to her knees, balling her other hand to a fist, too, biting into it.

“Isa!” He crouched next to her, his mouth gone dry as desert sand.

“S-seizure,” she hissed, panting. “Ugh!”

She doubled over, and he caught her before she hit the dirt.

“I’ve got you.” He pulled her close, but she slapped at him.

“No. I’ll be…all right.”

Veins stood out starkly on her skin, which had lost its usual warm tone, taken on a sick pallor. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked furiously while breathing fast and shallow, keeping her chin up.

“I don’t…need…” She bared her gritted teeth while she panted through what had to be an excruciating wave of pain.

“Yes, you do.” He drew her closer, careful not to hold her so tight that it hurt her more. “And you’ll let me.” He leaned down, spoke in her ear. “Allowing someone to care for you is not weakness, Isa. You don’t have to suffer alone. I’m here, I’ve got you, and I’ll help you through this. Let me.”

With a shuddering breath, and a broken sound in the back of her throat, she closed her eyes, grabbed his shirt, and buried her face against his shoulder. Basil exhaled roughly, stroked her back, and murmured words of encouragement and healing.

He held her through a storm of convulsions, through muffled screams that pierced his soul, through tides of agony so violent, so palpable, he could taste them with every breath. He channeled his despair about his helplessness into unflinching emotional support, into the steady strength of his embrace, poured every ounce of his desire to see her free from pain into the words he whispered in her ear.

When the last of Isa’s seizure subsided, leaving her trembling in his arms, her skin sweat-slick and cold to the touch, he rested his forehead on top of her head, and fought to keep his limbs from trembling along with hers.

Her breath hitched, and she pushed against his chest. He released her, and she came to her feet, staggered to a tree, which she grabbed for purchase.

Eyes downcast, she took a deep breath and said, “Thank you. Your help pays for the favor you owed me for my assistance in guiding you through Faerie and searching for Rose.” She inclined her head and turned away.

“What the—” Basil huffed, stood up. “Not everything has to be measured in favors, Isa. I gave my help freely.”

“Are you saying you’d rather be beholden to me still?” She peered at him, her warm brown tan returning slowly.

He sighed, linked his hands behind his head. “No, but that’s not the point. It’s just… Why does it have to be about paying a price? Why not just accept it as kindness?”

She dusted herself off, righted her clothes. “Because asking yourself ‘what will this cost me’ is the smartest way to stay alive.”

“And the fastest way to a life spent alone.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

Shit. Basil rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. And it’s just as well. I appreciate frank words more than polite lies.”

He sighed. “All I’m saying is, there’s another way to look at life. Kindness doesn’t have to be bought. It shouldn’t be.”

“You and I,” she said quietly, “have lived very different lives, then.”

His heart splintered a little at the resignation in her tone. He let out a breath that hurt his lungs, and asked, “What is it you’re suffering from?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your seizures. What causes them?”

She shrugged, turned her head away. “Nothing important.”

“Nu-uh.” He stepped in her line of sight again. “You already gave me that spiel. I want to know the truth. How bad is it?”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s curable.”

“And you haven’t cured it yet because…?” He raised his brows.

A muscle feathered along her jaw, and she shook her head a little. “You saved my life. I need to repay my debt first.”

“What? No. We are not traipsing around Faerie with you being attacked by seizures when there’s a way to heal you. We’ll get your cure, and then we’ll go on.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. She finally met his eyes, and the glint in hers made him cringe. “And what about Rose? Did you not say she’s likely in danger? You’ll just abandon her to her fate?”

He cursed and gripped the nape of his neck. His stomach was knotted tight, his muscles twitchy with irritation. “You’re right. We need to find her first.”

“Besides,” Isa said, “blood debts such as this must be paid before anything else. Even if it weren’t for Rose, I would have to wait until after I save your life to cure my condition.”

“That’s messed up.” He shook his head. “Your health is more important than repaying a favor.”

Her chin trembled before she pressed her mouth into a grim line. “Magic doesn’t care.”

She walked on ahead of him, and he couldn’t shake the impression that she’d really meant to say…

No one cares.

* * *

“And this one here,” Basil said, pointing at a faint scar on his chin, “I got when Lily decked me after I filled her toothpaste tube with wasabi.” He chuckled and ducked to evade a fairy flitting past as he and Isa maneuvered down the busy main street of Lam’il. “It took me several hours to prepare the tube so she wouldn’t notice it’d been tampered with. So worth it just to hear her screech when she brushed her teeth.”

Isa couldn’t help grinning. “She was right to hit you for that.”

“Yep. But she took revenge beyond that. When I got dressed the next morning, this horrible itch started in my pants.” He slanted a look at her. “She’d dusted my underwear with magical itching powder. I had to shower ten times—ten—to get it to stop.”

Isa covered her mouth with her hand, a choked chuckle escaping her. “It’s a miracle you two didn’t kill each other growing up.”

“Nah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It was all in good fun. For all the pranks we pulled, we always had each other’s back. We shared all our secrets, talked about everything. I had best friends all throughout school, but Lily and I were even closer. Being twins, we—” His sunny expression darkened, like the shadow of clouds blotting out the light. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, so much about that.”

“What?”

“It was all a lie, too, wasn’t it? We’re not twins. I always thought…” He shook his head. “It just hurts.”

“Why?”

He faced her, his brows pulling together. “What do you mean, why?”

“Does it change your relationship, knowing you’re not of the same blood?”

“Well…”

“When you think about it,” Isa ventured, “the bond you two formed is all the more remarkable for not being sparked by a twin relation. You grew up to be so close, not because you shared the same womb, or a blood link, or some sort of psychic twin connection. No, it is because the two of you forged it, all on your own. Because you truly care and trust and love each other as family. And that doesn’t change now, does it? If your bond did not form because of a blood relation, then the realization that you are adopted cannot weaken it. Lily will always be your sister.”

“Damn, you’re good at this.”

“At what?”

A smile that threatened to turn her knees to rubber. “Calling me out on my bullshit.”

She shrugged and averted her eyes, her neck and face flushing. “I call things as I see them, and I don’t mince words.”

“I like that in a woman.” The warm appreciation of his gaze on her made her skin prickle. “Usually Lily’s the one to talk sense into me, but I gotta say, I much prefer having you set me straight.”

She chanced a glance at him—which was a mistake. The playful wink he sent her zinged right into her bloodstream, causing all sorts of unwelcome tingles.

Along with the surge of desire came a pang of yearning so intense she nearly missed a step—yearning not just for the kind of affection Basil offered, but for the bonds he shared with others. He had loved ones in his life, family and friends, a network of support he could fall back on. Something she never had. His anecdotes and tales painted a picture of people willing to fight for him, to die for him, even if it had to be spelled out for him amid his current doubts.

No one would ever have sacrificed anything for Isa.

…the fastest way to a life spent alone…

Basil’s blunt statement echoed in her mind, touched on all the sore spots in her soul, speaking truth to the stubborn illusion she held on to, too afraid to let go.

What must it be like to be part of a larger whole, to be surrounded by people who loved her? She’d never know, would she? Because a network like that, it wasn’t built on favors.

Throat raw and aching, she swallowed, jerked her head toward an alley a few paces ahead. “This way.”

Rinnar of Stone lived in a mess of a house in a side street off the main road, or rather, the house appeared neglected from the outside, but surprised with splendor within. The fae they sought let them in after they stood waiting for ten minutes, and only after Isa pushed a note through a slit in the door.

“What did you write on it?” Basil asked her in a whisper while Rinnar hurried down the hall ahead of them, past mosaics inlaid in the walls, over expensive-looking rugs, and underneath several chandeliers of glittering crystals.

“That Hathôm received a valuable dagger of palladium for referring us to him,” Isa replied in a tone low enough that Rinnar wouldn’t hear her, “and that he won’t be happy if we may have to return and ask for it back since we didn’t even get to meet his source.”

Basil chuckled. “Glad your trick worked.”

“It usually does with paranoid chumps.”

The fae led them into a parlor with gilded mirrors, the finest upholstery on the chairs, and a grandfather clock tick-tocking away in a corner.

“Your house is beautiful,” Isa said in English, in an attempt to build some goodwill with the jumpy fae.

“Right.” Rinnar turned around to face them, his hands fidgeting in front of his plump belly. “What ya want?”

So much for polite chit-chat.

“Information.”

Rinnar scoffed, moving around the room, straightening things that didn’t need straightening. “Don’t everybody?”

Isa inclined her head. “Hathôm told us you know of a witch changeling who was brought into Faerie many years ago. We wish to know where you saw her, and anything else you know of her whereabouts.”

The twitchy fae paused for a second in rearranging a vase on the mantel above the marble fireplace, and eyed Isa. “Was long ago. Not sure I remember.”

Basil shifted his weight next to her, and she gave him a subtle sign with her hand to stand down. “Why don’t you recount what you do remember, and maybe the rest of it will come back to you?”

“Why you want to find her?”

Isa took a breath while she measured her words. “She doesn’t belong here. It is time for her to go home.”

“Why you care?”

“Her mother wants her back.”

“She’s a changeling,” Rinnar said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

“She’s my sister,” Basil snarled.

The fae twitched and leveled his attention on Basil for the first time, narrowing his eyes at his ears. “You half human? Give me your blood.”

Isa tensed while Basil shook his head.

“I’m fae,” he said. “But the witch changeling is the daughter of my adoptive mother. Tell us where you saw her.”

Rinnar frowned. “You don’t look full fae. You don’t feel full fae.” With a shake of his head, he added, “Never you mind what you are. Give me bit of your blood, and I tell you what I know.”

Isa took a step toward the fae. “No blood will be given. Do not overestimate the value of your intel.”

When Rinnar opened his mouth as if to argue, Isa hissed at him. The fae cringed and drew back.

Reordering the crystal bowls on the low table in front of the couch, he said, “You want to know, you pay well. If not blood, then what? Things changing in Faerie. I need security.”

Basil shot her a look. “The dagger was the most valuable thing I carry,” he whispered. He grasped the nape of his neck with one hand. “Maybe I should just give him my—”

“No.” Isa glanced around the luxurious interior, the abundance of precious jewels and shiny noble metals, the high quality of fabric and workmanship in the furniture. With a heavy feeling in her guts, she dove into one of her pockets, pulled out the ruby that would have paid for a brand-new set of armor.

“Here.” She held the gemstone out to Rinnar. “This will do.”

The fae’s face lit up as he beheld the ruby. He made a move for it, but Isa pulled her hand back at the last second.

“Provided,” she said, “your intel does give us an exact location. Swear on this stone that you saw her, and that you’re telling us the true location.”

Rinnar’s eyes glittered with avarice. “I swear I tell you truth. I swear on the bloodstone.”

Isa nodded and handed him the jewel. “Deal.”

The fae snatched the stone and cradled it to his chest. “I saw the witch changeling near the Sar’oa lake. A fae couple had her. They chased me away. Never went back, and don’t want no trouble with them.”

“Where exactly near Sar’oa?”

“Close to village of Tamnar. Hike from Tamnar toward the lake, one hour, and you find a house in a clearing.”

Isa inclined her head. “Be well, Rinnar of Stone.”

“Yes, yes.” Rinnar shooed them out with a wave of his hand. “Be well.”

They walked back through the lavishly decorated hall, Basil’s excitement a palpable force. He was all but jumping out of his skin with agitation, and when he turned to her once outside, his eyes sparkled.

“This is it, right? We might be just one step away from finding Rose.”

“Or not.” For his sake, she wished she could share his enthusiasm, but life had taught her to be less optimistic. “I don’t want to smash your hopes, but be prepared for this not to work out. We might have to keep searching.”

He released a heavy breath while they made their way back to the main street. “I am. This is still the best lead we’ve had so far, and I’d have to be dead not to be thrilled about it.” He paused and frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask—what did Rinnar mean when he said, ‘Things changing in Faerie’?”

Her nerves fluttered, and she took great care to keep looking ahead. “There has been…a disruption of power.”

“How so?”

She cleared her throat, which felt far too dry. “Recently, the entire royal court of Faerie was murdered.”

Basil halted abruptly. “What?”

She signaled for him to keep moving, and he did.

“How…who…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “What the fuck happened?”

She grimaced. Oh, the tightrope she was walking… “From what I heard, a single attacker entered the throne room and slaughtered them all. The king, the queen, their noble fae…”

“Wait a second.” Basil stopped again, grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. “How recently?”

She hesitated. “The night you came to Faerie.”

He blinked, his mouth opening. “Holy shit. Do you think the fae who exchanged me was in there? If she was murdered that night, it would explain why my glamour and the spell on Hazel were lifted.”

Damn, he was fast. Such an agile mind…

“It’s possible,” she conceded. “However, Faerie is big, and she could well have lived—and died—somewhere else.”

“Sure. But I don’t believe in coincidences, and this smacks of being connected somehow.” He frowned, started walking again when she indicated they keep going. “Did they catch the murderer?”

“No.”

“Who’s in charge now in Faerie?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There are some generals who have stepped in to keep the peace while…” A heavy exhale. “I guess they have to find someone who’s next of kin to the royals but wasn’t in the throne room. Some distant relative, maybe? I don’t know.”

She peered at Basil out of the corner of her eye. If not for his mixed heritage, he would qualify to contend for the throne. Provided he lived… Which, considering her plans, he wouldn’t, so it was a moot point.

Shaking off that line of thinking, she continued, “But there is talk about someone completely new taking over. Some are saying it’s time for fresh blood. A new line of royals, not related to the old ones.”

Basil was silent for a moment. “That’s going to be messy.”

Again, he’d grasped it, his mind truly quick on the uptake.

She sighed. “Yeah. It’s quite possible there’ll be some sort of civil war if this escalates. The military might keep some of it in check, but if there’s discord among the generals regarding whose claim to support, Faerie will bleed.”

“Damn.” He shook his head. “The fae who slaughtered the court sure did some major damage. What’s their motive, if not to usurp the throne?”

Isa raised her brows. “Well…let’s put it this way—every single member of the royal court had blood on their hands, and—as the humans say—an entire graveyard in their closet.”

Basil snorted, then caught himself. “Skeletons.”

“What?”

“The idiom is ‘skeletons in the closet.’” His grin made her stomach flip.

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “The fae nobility has been corrupted by cruelty over time, and all of them had more than one skeleton in their closets. Enough to give plenty of people plenty of reasons to take bloody revenge.”

“Are you saying they all deserved to die?”

“No.” Her chest drew tight with the knowledge she was among those with blood on their hands. Or, at least she’d helped the royal fae bloody their hands. Still, the sins of her past paled in comparison to the rotting darkness that had pervaded the court.

“I didn’t wish for them to die,” she said, her gaze on the intricate wood carvings in the facade of a house up ahead. “But I don’t mourn them either.”

Basil exhaled through his nose. “Considering the threat of unrest here in Faerie, I’d say it’s even more urgent to get Rose out.”

Isa nodded. “Then let’s pick up the pace.”