“Besides your house?” she asked, and he nodded. “Not yet, but the testers have been debating it at length.”
“I would think Duchess Maura would have a list of potentials, even if she has not yet made you aware of it.”
“Contingency plans?” Becka replied. “Yes, I suppose she would. But it’s not only my gift. I’m a bit unconventional. I’ve had a difficult time winning over those in my own house, not to mention strangers.”
The corner of his lip twitched upward. “Some wouldn’t consider your unique character a detractor. And even more would be willing to overlook it for the sake of custom and potentially powerful progeny.”
“Ugh,” she replied, scrunching her nose at the thought. “Can’t I just donate some eggs? I’m sure someone would be willing to carry the future heirs of House Rowan.”
He frowned. “The fae don’t practice surrogacy, Becka. It’s believed power transfers from mother to child during the pregnancy.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been gone too long. Humans do it all the time, but I forgot that fae don’t. It’s too bad; it would broaden our fertility rates. And besides, that argument makes no sense, as children get the father’s powers too.”
‘Yet it is the custom. I can see you’ve thought this over.” Then, his tone curt, “Did you want more water?”
Becka bit her lip, feeling like he’d shut down the conversation. But what did she expect him to do? He’d warned her that he wasn’t interested in someone who wasn’t available. The chemistry between them had become some sort of cruel joke.
“No thanks, I’d better take it slow with the water… my stomach is still queasy. And thank you for the sauce. My head is already improving.”
He gave a terse nod. “You’re welcome. Are you up for some questions?”
He’d gone all business on her, and her heart ached. To have Quinn back but distant was almost worse than having him not back at all.
“From you,” she smiled, “anytime.”
He flipped open his notebook to where he’d left a handy pen as a place keeper. “Tell me what you remember about the day of the poisoning.”
Becka took a deep breath and then recounted that day, including her morning training with Astrid, the muffins and sliced melon she’d had for breakfast, the ridiculous floofy ombre dress, the trade banquet and socializing, her bottle-dropping incident, and finally her end-of-day tea and poisoning with Vott. Everything.
Quinn silently listened to her tale. When her words ran dry, he sat contemplatively jotting down notes.
“Just so I know I have this down right: you weren’t there when the tea was delivered?”
“No. Vott had all that in order when I arrived.”
“And you didn’t see the tea brewed? Or the set put out?”
“Nope.”
“And you didn’t like the tea, so you poured it into Vott’s mug?”
Guilt flip-flopped in her stomach. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Did it taste funny?”
“I hadn’t tasted it first. I just hate that tea with a passion. His mug was empty, so I gave him mine and got water instead. I only had a little of the tea left in my cup.”
“The tea wasn’t poisoned.”
Becka leaned forward. “But all I drank was tea and water, and I didn’t see Vott drink any water, just tea. It had to be the tea.”
Quinn shook his head. “We tested the teapot and there wasn’t any poison.”
She frowned. “That makes no sense, Quinn.”
He held up his hand to calm her. “We tested the teapot, tea leaves, mugs, tea, and water.”
“And?”
“The tea in Vott’s mug was poisoned, but not until after you arrived. By the staff reports, he’d been sitting and drinking tea for a quarter hour before you arrived.”
“Wait a second… I didn’t poison my father!” she exclaimed.
Quinn’s gaze met hers for a moment, just long enough for Becka to realize he was reading her. His innate gift gave him an ear for the truth, and because it was innate, it operated twenty-four seven. All he had to do was pay attention. Did he think she was capable of poisoning her own father? His doubt hurt her heart.
This isn’t how things are supposed to be between us.
“I didn’t think you had, but thank you for the unequivocal statement. It’ll satisfy the doubts of some others, and I believe you.” He jotted down another note before continuing. “Our techs found that the entire rim of your mug was covered in poison. Our theory is that you were the intended target. Since you poured your tea into Vott’s mug, that’s likely how his tea was contaminated.”
Becka’s head swam in confusion. “You’re saying I did poison my father?”
He rocked his head from side to side. “Inadvertently. It wasn’t your fault.”
Tears filled her eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
He leaned closer, reached out, and stroked her shoulder. “I understand.”
Becka reveled in the contact, chaste and brief as it was. “Do the enforcers have any leads?”
“We know nothing definite, so we’re casting a broader net in the investigation to make sure we don’t miss any potential suspects.”
“I’m grateful the enforcers are here. Well, that you’re here. I just hope Vott can recover from the poison soon.”
He nodded, a grim set to his jaw. “I am also hopeful, but the chances are low. He appears to have gotten a larger dose than you. Plus, there’s the nature of the poison.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? Illan said it was a mixture of nightshade and strychnine. He also said that he’d used a combination of magic and medicine to treat Vott and that he was hopeful for his recovery.”
Quinn fixed her with a look, one she remembered from the last time he gave her bad news. He leaned in and spoke in low tones. “There was a third component in the poison.”
Chapter 6
“Don’t leave me hanging,” she said.
There was no trace of humor in Quinn’s features, his prominent bone structure left harsh and grave without his usual animated personality. “We found traces of the Treatment.”
Becka’s eyes blinked in quick succession. “You can’t be serious. The Treatment?”
His chin ducked a quick nod. “The one and only.”
Every fae-touched knew of the Treatment. Humans developed it during the Great War as a last-ditch effort to eradicate the fae threat. The fae didn’t know how it functioned; the method and formula a closely kept human secret. Rumor said it was a form of genetic warfare. Any fae exposed to the substance had their powers limited. Blunted. Bound. But those weren’t the worst of the effects.
Becka had read stories of the devastation to the victims. Cruelly, they still felt a trickle of their powers, but never again had access to them in meaningful ways. They also aged at an accelerated pace, which was a death sentence for those already well along in years. The victims withered, losing their strength, night vision, and agility.
Some killed themselves, unwilling to live without elements of self they considered essential. Those that didn’t take their own lives withered away, pariahs of their generation. A warning to all fae-kind not to war with humans ever again.