Gradually, the brightness faded and I came back to myself. My first thought was that Radu was going to need a new vineyard. The straight, symmetrical lines were no more. In their place was a riot of green—grapevines and small trees sprouted everywhere, and thin delicate garlands of bougainvillea and hibiscus draped over it all. Heavy with blossom, they swayed in the cool breeze, dropping an occasional orange or vividly pink petal onto the soft, grass-carpeted floor beneath us. The storm clouds had rolled back, and the sky was a pale, rain-washed blue.

“ ‘Caedmon’ means ‘Great King’ in Gaelic,” I said, as a vine burst into flower over my head, like a living firework.

“Does it?” Caedmon looked mildly interested. Heidar gave a yell and chased a retreating Fey into the vines.

“And your loyal retainers would be where?”

The king shrugged. “Serving my interests in Faerie. That is why we were to meet tonight—I needed time to contact and assemble them. But when an informant told me the Svarestri had been seen in this area, I sent word to my people to join me here as soon as they might, and returned to be on hand in case anything went wrong in my absence.”

We sat in silence for a moment while I picked red petals out of my hair. “Claire’s uncle was part Fey,” I finally said. “He couldn’t have made all that wine, otherwise.”

“Hmmm.”

“And her father was Dark Fey. Making her just slightly over half-Fey.” I shot Caedmon a dirty look. “You planned this.”

His lips twisted wryly as he unwound an overly affectionate vine that was trying to twine up his arm. “My dear Dory, I assure you, I did not plan for the deaths of two of my oldest retainers, nor for my own nephew to try to murder me.”

“But you did plan for Heidar to end up with Claire. You sent him to that auction, didn’t you?”

“What we parents must do to get our offspring happily settled.”

“Why?” I asked in bewilderment. “Why not just introduce them?”

He shook his head, dislodging the flock of butterflies that had come to rest there. Some fluttered off, but one lit on his knee, fanning extravagant orange wings in voluptuous contentment. “Heidar is just over one hundred of your years old—a teenager, by our standards. And, like most young men of his age, the last thing he wants is to follow orders from his sire. Had I told him in advance that I meant her for him, he wouldn’t have touched her—nor, in all likelihood, would she have had him.” He smiled at me smugly. “As it was, their attraction had an irresistible forbidden quality to it.”

“That resulted in an heir for you.”

“Already?” Caedmon’s smug grin widened. “That’s my boy.”

I refrained from slapping him. Just. “How is it that no one knew? I thought the Fey are obsessive about genealogy.”

“Oh, yes, particularly among the noble houses.”

“Then why did Æsubrand know nothing about Claire’s uncle?”

“We are obsessive about our ancestry, Dory.” When I still looked blank, he elaborated. “Light Fey ancestry.”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. “You’re telling me Claire’s uncle was Dark Fey?”

“I believe his great-great-great-grandmother was a quarter Brownie. It works out to a very small percentage for Claire, but enough to make any child born to her and my son more than fifty percent Fey. And therefore, by our laws, my legitimate heir. Assuming it is male, of course.”

“And you think the Svarestri will accept a king who is part Dark?” I couldn’t see someone like subrand bowing to Olga or Stinky. Or anyone with similar blood.

“There is nothing in the old rules about what kind of Fey blood it must be,” Caedmon assured me. “I suppose it was considered so obvious that it must be Light that it was never written down. As for the Svarestri, if I am right about their intentions, no Blarestri ruler will satisfy them for long.”

“Which is why you’ve been skulking about, pretending to be dead?”

Caedmon grinned delightedly. “Skulking. Was I really? How… divine.”

“Caedmon!”

He laughed. “Do you have any idea, Dorina, how long it has been since anyone has dared to address me so familiarly? Skulking.” He laughed again.

Heidar came through the forest of vines, dragging an unconscious, or possibly dead, Fey behind him. He looked up and saw us, and a delighted smile broke over his features. It was so like his father’s that it might have been a mirror image.

“That is why,” Caedmon whispered as his son came closer. “If the Svarestri believed me dead, I thought there would be no reason for them to attack my son, who they knew could never rule. It would give me time to find him and your friend while my retainers searched for Ǽsu-brand. The only factor I did not anticipate was Claire proclaiming to all and sundry that she was carrying my heir!”

“Which forced subrand to go after her if he wanted the throne.”

Caedmon sighed. “My sister spoiled him; I always told her it would end badly.”

“But it hasn’t ended. He’s still on the loose, and now he knows you’re alive.”

“There are always problems, Dory. That is why we live for the few shining moments that make the rest worthwhile.”

“Do you see, lady?” Heidar beamed at me, dropping his trophy at his father’s feet. “I told you he wasn’t dead.” The Fey moaned, so I supposed he was still alive. “Where is the Lady Claire?” He looked a little apprehensive. “We… we have something to tell you, Father.”

I looked around, frowning. “She went after water for me.” But that had been a while ago, hadn’t it? I wasn’t sure. My time sense had taken a beating.

I looked toward the house, and it was eerily still. No half-breeds, Fey or otherwise, roamed about outside, and if anyone moved within, it wasn’t obvious. Louis-Cesare, I suddenly recalled, had said he would join me. And Radu should have had the wards back up by now, only I hadn’t felt anything. I glanced at Caedmon. “I hope you enjoyed the moment, because I think the problems are back.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Oddly, the house looked more sinister in broad daylight than it had under an overcast sky. It also looked deserted. We paused in the little courtyard with the fountain, but the only discernible sound over the trickling water was the buzzing of a few insects hovering about the bougainvillea and my own breathing. It sounded loud and harsh in my ears. The Fey didn’t seem to be breathing at all.

They had that in common with the corpse lying half in, half out of the shadowy hallway. The hair was black. I bent down and rolled the face toward me, but I didn’t know him. Not one of Radu’s humans, then.

I checked his shoulder and back, but there was no black circle tattooed anywhere I could see. Nor was there a silver. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a mage, of course. Just that he wasn’t a very good one.

The cause of death was a heart attack brought on by the fact that someone had thrust a long, skinny blade through it. I looked up, and saw Caedmon noting it, too. Louis-Cesare may as well have signed his name to the body. Farther down the corridor, I saw a spill of gold against terra-cotta. Without being told, Caedmon started around the back and Heidar circled around toward the front entrance. I followed the trail of bodies into the house.

A blond and two brunets later, I was in the living room. The painting of Mehmed had swung out into the room, revealing an empty three-tiered shelf. Okay, so I knew where Radu had kept his power source, whatever it was. There were no bodies in the room, but a wash of blood-scented air slapped me in the face as soon as I entered. I didn’t see any puddles, and it would take something that big to send off so much of an odor. But the door to the main entryway was open, and there was a cross-breeze.

I ripped the leg off a chair, getting a jagged but sharp edge, as I scented the air. The blood wasn’t Claire’s. That I would have recognized immediately. But it did seem familiar. I couldn’t figure it out until I got close enough to see into the hallway.