Dead Magic (26 page)

Montgomery Taven lay sprawled across her bed, his head craned over the edge at an awkward angle. His mouth was open, his eyes wide and empty, and a big knife was buried in his chest.

Valeda screamed. She staggered until she hit the wall, her legs suddenly unable to work. Covering her mouth, she stared at Monty's body, her mind devoid of rational thought.

Winslow burst through the door, took one look at the body on her bed, and then pulled her into an embrace. She closed her eyes and hid her face in his shoulder, trying hard to forget what was just behind her. She heard a new voice enter the room, but didn't move, clinging to Winslow's solid strength like a lifeline.

"What the blazes?" someone said. "Is that . . . that can't be . . . Ambassador Taven?"

"I believe we should section off this room and call for the Warders," Winslow said.

"Mother, Maiden and Crone!"

"Sir!" Winslow said, forcefully. "What is your name, sir?"

"Milance. Frederick Milance. I'm with room service . . . I just heard the scream . . ."

"Mister Milance, I recognize that this is a shocking scenario, but before the whole floor erupts with gossip, I suggest you section off this room, inform your manager, and send for the Warders."

"Right. The Warders. They'll know what to do."

A moment later she heard the door close and Winslow slowly pulled away from her. Valeda felt her body tremble, felt her head suddenly light as he wiped the tears from her face. He was the only thing safe to look at, so she did. He appeared grim and serious as he quietly took stock of her.

"It's all right," he said. "You are all right, Vee. Just breathe."

"Monty . . ."

His eyes flashed and his jaw clenched, but he shook his head. "I'm going to go check if they left anything behind. I need you to keep facing the door. Do not turn around."

"Won't the Warders do that?"

He smiled at her and she thought she read real affection in his voice. "Here you are in complete shock and you still manage to think clearly," he said. "Yes, the Warders will do that, but I want to make sure Dorian didn't leave anything behind. The last thing we need is his name connected with a murder."

She nodded, mostly understanding. He moved quickly, abandoning her for his investigation. Valeda hugged herself and tried to stop shaking. In all her investigations, she'd never seen a dead body, much less a murdered one in her bed. The sight was jarring, painful, and she felt ill.

Without meaning to, she accessed her magic. The shaking subsided and the aches of the day disappeared. She still felt ill, but as long as she faced the door she was in no immediate danger of disgracing herself. A moment later Winslow returned to her. He rubbed her arms and frowned at the room behind her.

"I think we're safe," he said.

Her mind flashed to the train station and she remembered the fear in Monty's eyes. She'd known he was being followed.
Why didn't I warn someone?
I might have prevented his death if I'd just said something to Lady Elsie.

"I tried to talk to him at the train station," she said quietly. "He pretended not to know me. I knew . . . I knew there was something wrong, I just . . ."

"You couldn't have known this was coming," Winslow said. "Although it is gratifying to know I was right."

"Right about what?" she asked, confused.

"Something really was wrong at the station. You just refused to say what."

"We were being watched. I thought someone could be listening as well."

"A fair summation. Someone probably was. But why did you want to talk to him?"

"I was being polite," she said with a frown. She could still see the way Monty had gallantly escorted her into the Delgora gardens. "He'd been so charming and kind to me before, it only seemed right to return the favor."

The door opened and a dark, stalwart man strode into the room. He brusquely made his way to the bed, ignoring her and Winslow. Valeda turned partway, but kept her face averted from the scene. Winslow shifted beside her, one hand resting on the small of her back. A moment later two more people entered, ignoring them just as much as the first and moving into the room. They were all Warders; she knew by the white tabards they wore. And she could sense something on them, something that called to both the Wild and the magic in her.

"Miss Quinlan, I presume?" the dark man asked, moving to stand before her.

"Yes."

"Miss Quinlan, there is a dead man in your bed. I would like to know how he got there and why."

She blinked up at his stern, unhappy features. "I . . . don't know," she said. "I only just arrived to find him here."

"Convenient," he said. "And where were you prior to finding him?"

"I don't know. Everywhere. I've been walking through Lorant all day."

"All day, you say? How wonderful. No alibi, then," he said and squinted down at her. "What makes a lady walk through Lorant all day on her own?"

"I was upset," Valeda said and frowned. She'd distinctly heard the word 'alibi'. He talked too fast, but she heard it.

"Upset by what?"

"Why does that matter? Poor Ambassador Taven certainly didn't upset me, if that's what you're driving at. I had no idea the man wanted to see me." She felt Winslow stiffen beside her, but she didn't care. This Warder was treading on her very fragile nerves.

"And why would Ambassador Taven want to see you?"

Valeda realized then the blunder she had made. It would have been better if she said she didn't know the dead man. That would have given them time to visit Lady Elsie and explain the matter before the Warders had her arrested under suspicion of murder. The reporter in her connected the dots quickly enough that she could respond without stammering. Valeda lifted her chin and gave the Warder her best angry face.

"Ambassador Taven did a kindness for me several months ago," she said curtly. "I told him then that if he ever needed something within my power that I would see it done. As we haven't spoken since, I can only imagine he came to collect."

"In your bedroom?"

Valeda gasped at the suggestive tone in the Warders voice and nearly slapped him. Winslow, Fates be praised, anticipated her. With a quick move he grabbed her by the wrist and shoved her behind him, successfully blocking her from the rest of the room.

"You will remember that she is a lady above reproach, sir," Winslow said. "Or you will answer to me."

"Relax, Lord Agoston," a new voice said from the doorway. "Victor is trained to upset suspects in order to draw out the truth."

This new man was not wearing a tabard. Instead, he was festooned in cream and black colors, all of the fabrics too rich for an ordinary Warder. His face was familiar to her, but she could not rightly bring his name to mind. He was older, with greying sepia hair and care-worn features.

He took his time removing his gloves before making his way into the room.

"Lord Orzebet," Winslow said after a moment.

Valeda blushed and kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. This was Lord Rorant Orzebet, Dorian's father. That was why he looked so familiar. His son was very near to identical, minus several years, of course.

"Have you called for the surgeon yet?" Orzebet asked.

"I sent a runner," Victor reported.

"Good. I doubt there's much light he'll be able to shed on this case, but make him do a thorough investigation anyway," Orzebet said.

Valeda peeked around Winslow's shoulder. Victor remained in front of Winslow, but Lord Orzebet stood over the bed, staring down at Monty's body. She spied Monty's face in her peripheral vision and shuddered. Mercifully, Orzebet's body blocked out the sight of the knife and blood.

"Search the room, Victor. Monty was a clever man. He'll have left us something." Lord Orzebet turned from the bed to face them. "Lord Agoston, Miss Quinlan, you will accompany me to my office."

Valeda knew better than to argue.

***

"We have some serious problems," Lord Orzebet said as he closed his office door.

Winslow sat in the wooden chair beside Valeda and watched Rorant move to sit behind his desk. In all his years frequenting the building, Winslow had never once been forced to sit in Rorant's private office. It felt wrong to be in there, as though he were trespassing in spite of Rorant being right there. Everything was clean and polished, gleaming under the many electrical lights that lined the walls. Even the arm of his chair showed the deep glow of healthy wood, matching the desk and floor almost perfectly. This was the office of a man who took pride in everything he did.

Something else was wrong; Winslow could feel it.

"You mean other than Ambassador Taven's death?" Valeda asked, though by her tone he knew she sensed the same problem.

"Indeed," Rorant said. "Lord and Lady Delgora went missing from Feverrette House tonight."

"What?" The word was out of Winslow's mouth before he could stop himself. His stomach knotted with grief. "How long?"

"Lord and Lady Feverrette informed me more than an hour ago. They left the house to meet Lady Jessamine at the station and returned to find the servants drugged and their two charges missing," Rorant said and folded his arms over his desk.

He looked lost for a moment, gazing blankly at several sheets of paper stacked neatly on the desk. Winslow's heart broke at the sight of him. Lord Rorant Orzebet always knew what to do. He held most of Magnellum's secrets, had battled two Dellidus creatures in his lifetime and now, at the prospect of his son's death, he was finally broken.

Winslow couldn't bear to look at him. This was his fault. If he hadn't kissed Valeda in the middle of the street she wouldn't have run off. He would have been there to protect them. Defeat lodged in his chest and he slumped in his chair.

"Who would have taken them?" Valeda asked. "And why?"

"Any number of nobles hate them," Winslow said. "Because Elsie is . . . special."

"Lady Elsie is five steps away from going crackers, even I can see that, but she hasn't done anything wrong," Valeda said.

"She married Dorian."

"Many nobles have married outside the Council's wishes. None of them were abducted. This makes no sense, my Lord."

Winslow looked at her and wished he could explain everything. He wanted to tell her that Elsie was their last link to Magic, that it was through Elsie that all of Magnellum might be saved from the Wild, but he couldn't. He'd given an oath to the Council never to speak about the events that transpired in Delgora eight years ago. For the Witch-Born, oaths were hard to break.

When the silence stretched on, Valeda broke, glaring at them both with real heat.

"Now you listen to me," she said angrily, "I may have been a reporter for several years, but I am not always on the prowl for a story. I am not the sort who preys on the suffering of others for my reporting. Now I may not have many things to bring to the table, but I do understand how to investigate. Either let me help or lock me up somewhere. I'm quite done with being molly-coddled and held in suspect."

"We don't suspect you of anything," Rorant said with surprise.

"Then tell me what is going on, so I can help."

Winslow shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He glanced at Rorant, who looked monumentally confused, and realized that Dorian hadn't had the chance to tell his father about Valeda's condition. He didn't like having another person know about her-the more who knew, the more danger she would be in-but she had dispelled frost bite before it could hit him and that rumor was going to surface eventually.

He took a deep breath and sat forward.

"I think we should all lay our cards on the table," he said, mostly to Valeda. "Trust must come from both sides, right?"

She frowned, but nodded at him.

"Valeda is Talented now," Winslow said, turning to Rorant. "She's the first new Witch in eight years, I think. I don't know how it happened, but it did. So the Witch-Born plight is now, at least in part, her plight. Wouldn't you say?"

Rorant knew what he was asking. Leaning back in his chair, the older man folded his hands and surveyed Valeda for a moment. With a deep, unhappy sigh, he conceded with a nod.

Winslow turned back to Valeda. "Eight years ago a Dellidus attacked Magic, the man-god, in Delgora."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"You know how the Dellidus works. It feeds off Magic," Winslow continued. "Except when it took directly from Magic, the man-god, it drew power from all the Witch-Born in Magnellum. We suspect that is why the Pillars are falling."

"So . . . Magic is dead?" Valeda asked.

"Yes and no," Rorant said. "His physical form died that day, but a remnant was left behind. He exists now in Elsie's right arm."

"And that's why so many in the Council hate Elsie," Valeda said. "They would see this as an end to their power and be threatened."

"Yes," Winslow said. "So you see, there are any number of Witches who might have taken Dorian and Elsie."

"Oh, I have a fairly good idea who took them," Rorant said, scowling. "I just can't prove it."

"Who?" she asked.

Winslow felt his gut knot. He knew the answer before it was given. He'd been suspecting it for a while now.

"My wife, Lady Minne Orzebet."

"Oh," Valeda said in a small, shocked voice. Her brow furrowed as she processed this information. "But . . . Montgomery Taven worked for Orzebet House."

"Yes, he did. And he was a damned fine fellow," Rorant said.

"So . . ." Valeda frowned some more. "So why was he coming to see me?"

"I had assumed you two were in cahoots since your trip to Delgora, actually."

"Well, no," Valeda said defensively. "I hardly knew the man. The last time I saw him was at the train station and he made it plain that he didn't want to talk to me."

"At least right then," Winslow corrected her. "You did say you thought he was being watched."

"So you think he came to my bedroom to talk to me? But why? What could I do to help him?"

"I have no idea," Winslow said.

"Whatever it was," Rorant said, leaning back in his chair, "it was important enough that someone killed him."